Choices
by Mr. Wols
Summary: "When I look back at things, at my life, I think I messed up somewhere. In between falling for Carly and running to the Marines. Somewhere in between years of pain, killing and heartache, I messed up. Now i'm back, after a lifetime of war and violence i'm back in my home town, staring at old faces, and I can't stop thinking that, somewhere along the line, I made the wrong choice."
1. Choices

**Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly**

**REVISED A/N: I'm back again. And I bring changes, actual changes. If you are reading this after December 14, 2011 you are reading a revised version. I have tweaked this chapter, rewritten parts of chap 2. And I'm basically rewriting chapters 3-10 with minor revisions of 11-15. Then we will be in new stuff. It's the same stuff, just written a little differently. While it's still not perfect, it's better. Still don't know how long it's going to be. Reason for rewriting again? While the story was alright, it wasn't even close to what I wanted it to be. So this version is a little more realistic, based a little more in reality. The way I want it. And in this most of the current season didn't happen. Because I started this before it aired, therefore it is void.**

**Choices**

"**Choices"**

_Choices. People think that those are what determine what happens, that those are how you make your future. But in reality, we don't get to choose our futures. They are pre-set, carved into a metaphorical stone for all eternity. The end point and the key things that happen along the way can't be chosen. They don't happen at random. It doesn't matter; whatever path you take in life is irrelevant. No matter what you do, you can't escape the truth. You still hit those points, and you still end up in the same place. All choices do is define how you go about hitting those points. And that's why people obsess with choices; they think if they do something different, change the path they take, that it will make a difference. But it doesn't. People are persistent. That's just how people are, and I'm no different. Fucking choices._

Walking down the street, I keep my eyes glued to the sidewalk. I don't need to see where I'm going. My feet know this route. As if it's engraved into me. And it's not like I'm in danger, not in this side of town, not here. The worst that'll happen is someone bumps into me and asks for an autograph because they recognize me from _then._ But even if I wasn't on this side, I still wouldn't be in danger. I tend to have a reputation. And it's not exactly good. I wouldn't say people are afraid of me, but they tend to avoid me.

It's dark, probably after midnight. Not really sure anymore, I've been walking for hours now. And it doesn't really matter since I don't have a watch and I barely ever carry my cell-phone. Pathetic, I know but I don't really care. I don't have the desire to speak to anyone. After the state emancipated me, things changed, I changed.

Life was pretty good for a while. Pam was_ trying_ to be my mom. Things were starting to look up. But all good things come to an end sooner or later. And it wasn't really that good. Sure she tried. That was more than I could have asked for. But it wasn't enough. Something was bound to set her off, something to make her rediscover alcohol. And when she did it was like watching a train wreck. Everybody tries to help but you know better so you just sit back and watch it happen. After she was gone, the state had no idea what to do with me. So they tried to put me in the care of some relatives that _weren't _in prison. And they didn't want me. So they cleared my record and shoved me in some crap apartment and gave me a shit job so I could scrape out a living. That's when things came undone. I didn't have any free time to spend with Carly, and that ended the show. And when we ended the show, it was like a lost grounding for my life. It got harder to keep things stable. And I made a mistake, not a choice. This was one of those key points I'm destined to hit. I fell in love.

Normally love can be dealt with, like it's a bug or something. Kill it or ignore it for long enough and it goes away. But not when you fall in love your best friend. Then you can't kill it. Not when it's with your _female_ best friend. Then you can't ignore it. It becomes a wedge. You force yourself to stay away from them, trying to stop it. But you can't. It starts small. You talk to them as much, when you see them you don't get close. Then you start actively avoiding them. It gets worse and worse, playing emotions you didn't know you even had. I can't begin to imagine how the other person feels.

I feel my feet slowing down, which means I'm close. Looking up I'm greeted by an old sign. I stand a moment, staring at the **BUSHWELL PLAZA **sign.Faint scorch marks still scar the area around her window. God, Spencer shouldn't ever be allowed to touch wires. Or anything that deals with electronics. I miss him. But he's one of those things that's just so close to her. I can feel the emotions just swarming inside me as I start to become nervous. And on cue with the mood, it starts to rain. Seattle tends to do that. I jog across the street holding my coat over my head. I reach the new fire escape they installed about a year ago. Yeah. It's due to Spence, something to do with extra water heaters.

I climb my way to their floor; the only thing swimming through my head is doubt. It's like a giant cloud that's causing me to slow down my pace considerably. I finally hit their floor and climb through their side window. They really should lock these things. I get in and it's exactly like it was. It even smells the same and all of a sudden that dark cloud has turned into a sea of despair where I have to struggle just to keep breathing. I make my way through the loft, touching little things along the way. All of it is painful. All of these memories, each just as painful as the last; even the good ones. It's almost overwhelming. I get to the edge of the stairs and that sea of despair is now a solid wall of dread. But still I press. I hit the top and find my way to her bedroom door. And I just find myself standing here, immobile. Contemplating how I got here.

It's actually rather simple. I hit a key event in my life and made a choice. That choice left me with two options. Just leave. Up and go. Don't tell anyone. And the other is to tell her the truth. Tell her that I love her. That I hate what my life has become. Tell her that I'm leaving. And I don't think I'm coming back.

Even though I'm at her fucking doorstep, it's not too late for option one. I could choose to leave and forget I came here. That's probably the better choice when it comes to my emotions. But what about her feelings, how has this all affected her? I've been avoiding her for months and she has no idea why. But then the unexpected happens and the choice is made for me.

Her doorknob turns and it's one of those movie moments where something really dramatic happens and time slows down. This should be a completely enlightening and absolutely horrible.

Her door opens the rest of the way and there she is, standing there in her pajamas. She's looking down at first but her eyes slowly make their way up me. The empty cup she had in her hand slips and a shocked expression on her face as she takes a quick breath. I hear the glass hit the floor and her arms wrap around me. This isn't going to be easy.

**A/N: Please review.**


	2. Leaving

**A/N: This is the revised chapter two. Not much is different, just correcting some spelling errors and phrasing problems. Just quick stuff, and when I say quick, I still probably miss some things. Okay, I lied, I practically rewrote this whole thing. And when I say not much is different, I mean I rewrote half this chapter. And this still goes to MadHatterKedsal. And if you don't know the name Cosey, he was one of, if not the, greatest forgers in American history. One of his specialties was forging presidential documents. Some of which are still in collector circulation, considered as real even after 60+ years of him being dead.**

"**Leaving"**

_"The best way to end something is to treat it like a band aid. Whether what you're ending is a relationship, a friendship, a theft or a kidnapping. Eating, breaking out of jail or even killing someone. Whatever it is, you should always do it as quickly as possible." My uncle carmine told me that. He wasn't too nice of a guy. But he was smart and only wanted the best for me. But of course to him the best thing he could do was teach me to pick any lock, crack any safe and give me forging skills that would put Cosey to shame. Not a fun summer. The point is that he was right. When you rip off a band aid really hard and fast it hurts for a moment. A sharp pain and then it's gone, and you can go back to whatever it was you were doing to get hurt in the first place. And sometimes you forget that you got hurt, and get hurt again. And when you go slowly, it's a constant dull pain; a lasting pain. The kind of pain that, as a child, will keep you from doing things, things you would normally love to do. And because of this you have a choice, either rip it off and go get hurt again, or slowly peel it off. I never really understood what he meant; to me a band-aid was just a band-aid. There was no fast or slow, you put it on and when you were done you took it off. It had nothing to with pain. But sometimes he was just amazed I was smart enough to get one when I was hurt._

She's warm. She's always warm. And it's a struggle not to wrap my arms around her. God, she's so warm. She feels so good compared to the harsh weather of Seattle. And being so close to her, it just reminds me that this is the place where I feel safest, in her arms. Being here, so close, all my worries wash away, but only for a moment, because just seeing her is killing me. I shouldn't be here, I should have just left.

We stand for a moment, her head resting on my shoulder, her breath tickling my neck. I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her, to hold her tight and say that I'm sorry for the way that I've been treating her. But I can't, I can't make this harder than it is already. Not for my sake, but hers. I shift my stance to one where I can see her face, but she just tightens her grip. It takes a lot but I manage to pry her off of me and I immediately wish I hadn't. She takes a step back, keeping hold of my hand while looking straight into my eyes. Small tears are running down her cheeks as she let's go of my hand, running a hand through her hair she lets out a small sniffle.

"Sorry, I know you don't like it when people cry around you or on you for that matter." I can't respond. I can only frown as she wipes the tears from her eyes, which is a useless effort as more fill their place. What's worse is that she won't look at me. Her eyes continuously shift around me. And the look in them is heart shattering. She's trying to hold herself together in front of me but I can see her cracking. She finally breaks down again, holding herself as she cries. Every so often I see the look in her eyes. It's of joy, she's crying because she's happy to see me. But there's something under that, a deep pain. I can't imagine the mix of emotions she's feeling.

"Carly…" I raise a hand, but stop myself just short of her shoulder. I can't touch her. I can't hug her, or tell her its okay. Because I can't, I'd be lying. And I can't lie to her. Not now, not ever. "Carly, I… I have to tell you something." The words are dry and painful. She lets out a small pained laugh and a few sniffles.

"Figures, I'm not stupid Sam, you've been avoiding me for so long. You don't answer my calls or my texts. You switch to different classes at school and you aren't ever home when I try to come over. I know something's wrong, and I can't help but think it's me. But lo and behold you show up at my bedroom door in the middle of the night looking the part of a hobo and you won't even hug me when I start crying. So obviously something's going on." Why does she have to be so smart? Why can't she be like everybody else, heartless, uncaring and selfish. Why does she have to read me like an open book? "And knowing you it's not good." I want to tell her it's not her fault. That it's all my fault, that _I _fell in love with _her._ But I can't. I can't say it. I can't tell her why I'm here, why I was gone, and why I'm leaving. And it's not _because _of her; it's _for_ her, just as much as it's for me. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

I'm snapped out my thoughts by the motion of her pulling me inside her room. All I can do is stare and feel horrible about this whole situation. Looking around her room I notice that it's… different. It doesn't have that same happy careless vibe it had when Spence and I finished it. It feels darker somehow. She pulls us across her room to her window before she sits on her bed. I stand there silent, gazing at the rain. For once in my life the band-aid thing makes sense now. I'm scared of what could happen if I tell her, afraid of her reaction. What if she hates me? Finds me disgusting? Slowly I notice she's been talking this whole time, with a sorta hushed, distracted tone.

"It hasn't felt right without you here. It feels… weird. Life's boring, and I don't have anything to do. I just go through the motions, hoping that something fun happens. But it never does. Day in and day out, the same thing over and over again. I think Spencer is taking it the worst though. All he does is cry about being bored all the time, 'No inspiration'. I actually had to convince Freddie's mom to let him go fencing with Freddie again so they have something to do. And Freddie, he's acting like he's having the time of his life, not having to worry about you beating him up. But he misses you too, even if he won't admit it…" She just keeps going. Rambling on in that sad voice, hoping that if she traps me in conversation I won't leave. I just hang my head. Almost in tears at how much this is tearing at me. And her mentioning everybody doesn't help. She's the only person that can play with my feelings like this, even if she doesn't know it. I straighten my face, wiping away all emotion I possibly can. Something Carmine taught me. But I could never master it, always too many things swimming through my head.

I turn to her; the smell of her hair reaches me. It's like smelling fresh coconuts in a rain forest. She always smells good.

"I… I enlisted in the Marines. I'm being shipped to boot tomorrow morning. From there, I don't know. I'll probably be sent to the middle east, the tensions are rising over there." I wait to see her reaction, but there isn't one. She just continues to sit completely still, head in her hands. I have the urge to grab her, make sure she's okay. But I hold myself back. She utters one word, one simple word.

"I thought they ended the war, I thought it was over." I almost correct her, telling her that they pulled out of Iraq, not Afghanistan. But I can't say anything. It's a horrible feeling, being speechless.

"Carly…"

"Why?" She lifts her head, staring straight at me. "Why, Sam? What happened? I-I know it's been tough but… but what was so bad you can't just talk to me?" It's like a knife is being lodged in my heart. Even worse is that I'm the one holding it, I'm the reason she's like this, the reason she's going to be like this.

"I'm sorry Carly, it's not you, I swear. It's just…" I don't have it in me to even finish the lie.

"Then what, Sam? Just talk to me, tell me what's wrong. Let help you." The knife slowly twists in my chest as more tears spill down her cheeks. This wouldn't as hard if she was angry. But to see her cry, I can't take this.

"I… I'm sorry Carly. I just can't." I slip around the bed but she grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks.

"S-so you're just going t-to go? No explanation or reason, just leave?" I pull my arm away and make my way out the door and down the stairs and out the building breaking into a full sprint, a single tear slipping down my cheek as I go. It's a long way to South Carolina.

_When he told me this, I just asked him "Why not avoid getting hurt in the first place? Just make everything so much simpler and dodge all of this band-aid crap." Then he told words to live by, something no one should forget, but everybody does, including me. _

_"Well Sammy, life ain't that simple. And it never will be."_


	3. Welcome to Hell

**A/N: Revised. This might not be the best, little over descriptive, not much plot. But it shows how much Sam's life is going to change. And the first night is like this, in a nut shell. And sorry for taking out all the dog references, but they don't fit well enough in the revised version, but there's still some. New readers review and old reader's stick with me. Might still be some errors. And I did change the chapter title. Little for fitting.**

"**Welcome to Hell"**

_"__Since when was life complicated, what you see is what you get so you should just run with it, right? Why complicate things."_

_He just looked at me chuckling. "No. it's not like that. Think of it this way, Life is… life and love are the same. They're an illusion." I let out a dry laugh at his explanation._

"_Because that explains so much, and it wasn't cryptic at all." He raises an eyebrow. I've never seen so much sarcasm in such a simple expression._

_"What I mean is that without love you can't live. And as for the illusion, from a distance they look like a cute puppy. All nice and fluffy, tricking you into wanting it, but once you do you see it's not a puppy. It's actually a pit bull that wants nothing more than to tear out your heart." As strange as it sounds, it's true. Life isn't always what it seems, you never know just what is around the corner. And if you strip away all the sarcasm, he just might be a wise man. "Now let's go teach you how to handle pit bulls." Just not the way most people are wise._

I'm here. Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island within Port Royal, South Carolina. It doesn't look to bad from the outside, well kept and official. But the old phrase comes to mind. _Never judge a book by its cover._ It was about two in the morning when we all arrived, bus loads of potential marines. All excited by the idea of becoming something more, but none of us were ready. We stepped off of the buses and into the pouring rain, forced to run to sets of yellow footprints that so many before us had stood. Everyone is cold and wet, some doubting their decision to come here as a large man bears down on us. He walks the line a few times with a sense of authority. He looks to be about forty-five, maybe fifty with big arms and a thick neck. And tanned skin from years of sun exposure in what I'm guessing was active duty in Iraq.

"Look at you pathetic limp-dick, farm boy, jersey shore looking mother-fuckers." He continues to walk down the rows, angrily eyeing each person as he goes. "I ask for a group of potential marines and I'm given this sorry sack of shit. Hell, go as far as to some of you dumb shits can't even read very well." He stops next to me, towering above, leering at me. "Some of you think you're better than everyone else, that just because you're here means that you're going to be Marines. Well I don't give a fuck if you're rich, or if you think you're tough and ballsy. Or you're a fucking teen idol and want special treatment." I can tell from the way he said it, from the look in his eyes that he was talking to me. "Maybe your daddy was a marine like his father before him and you want to continue the tradition. Well too-fucking-bad. You are not here to continue tradition, you are not here to get away and you most certainly are not here because you think it's cool." He makes his way back to the front of the group. "You are here for one purpose, to become a member of the world most feared fight force. THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS. AM I CLEAR?"

"YES SIR!" Everyone shouts at the same time, all eager to begin their training.

"The face of war changes, the threats get bigger and meaner. They get smarter and well armed. And most importantly they are learning to work together. And to combat this we get bigger, we get smarter, and we work EVEN better as a whole fighting force. In this spirit, training is going to be different than the past. Men and women, black and white, these are titles that no longer exist. You are nothing but recruits. Take a look around you, these men and women are now your team, you platoon, they are now your family. I don't care what you've heard, or what your friend said, or what you read on the internet. From this moment forward you will eat, drink, blink, breathe, live and train as a team. The only thing that separates you is where you sleep and where you bath. From now on you will no longer use words such as 'I' or 'me' or 'we'. You will say 'this recruit' and 'that recruit' or 'these recruits'. From now until you leave you adhere to articles eighty-six, ninety-one and ninety-three of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. In short you will not leave, you will listen to what I say and you will do as I saw as if you life depended on it. AM I UNDERSTOOD?"

"YES SIR!" He makes his way to a set of large steel doors with the Marine insignia on them. Everyone is shaking and shivering from the rain.

"Thousands upon thousands of recruits have passed through these hatches. You will do the same. You will pass through here once and only once, because when you leave here you WILL be Marines. When you leave here your transformation from civilian to Devil dog will be complete. UNDERSTOOD?"

"YES SIR!"

"One last thing, once you pass through these hatches, I own you body and soul. The next thirteen weeks of your life are mine. Welcome to Parris Island. To put it eloquently, 'Welcome to Hell.'" With that he waves us in and everything changes. When I decided to come here I didn't think it would be such a leap in lifestyles. I thought it would be running, shooting and getting screamed at. But it's not. We step in from the rain and the first thing we do is get a small green bag before and filling it with supplies. We were forced to give up all of our civilian items, including our clothes. We were given uniforms, haircuts, medical examinations and a chance to call home. Most of them are happy to have the chance to tell their loved ones that they got here safe. But when my turn came up, what was I supposed to do? I don't have anyone to call. I thought about calling Melanie, but why bother. We don't speak much for a reason. She and… and Carly are the only ones that know I'm here. I opted out of the call, despite the urge to call Carly. Next we set up bank accounts for pay. I wasn't expecting to get paid for being screamed at. Granted it's not much. After a few hours of sitting in a room being spoken to about the fundamentals of the Corps we were given a strength test. We were forced to stay up and listen to speech's and do some physical exercises before finally being showed to our rack.

Climbing onto my rack every muscle I have, and some I didn't know were there, is aching. Once I settle in there's no noise, no has enough energy left to make any noise. So they just lay there slowly drifting off into sleep. But not me, I'm left to wallow in my thoughts. Suffer from the overwhelming urge to cry. Not from the pain or exhaustion, but from how different everything is. I try to calm myself, but the only logical thoughts surfacing from my exhausted mind are the things uncle Carmine taught me that day about pit bulls. You don't beat the dog in a fight. You show your dominance beforehand so the dog is afraid of you and doesn't bite the hand the feeds it. And that's the tactic the D.I's are taking with all the recruits. Making us so scared we live by what they say, throw away our social being and in the end come out Marines. It'll work with most of them, but thirteen weeks isn't enough time to forget her. So I'm left with one option. Show the Instructors that I'm not some fucking puppy that has to be broken. I've already been broken and they aren't dealing with a human being. There all ready dealing with a devil dog. The very thing they want us to become. And that gives me the feeling that now that I'm close enough to see what that fluffy puppy really is, that it's going to be extra vicious to me. But that's good. Something has to give me a challenge in my life, right? My eyes slowly close as I finally drift into to sleep. It should bring peace and rest, but all it brings are haunting images of Carly.

_He looks up at me, still laughing as he finishes putting the band aids on my hand, blood pooling on my sleeve. Who laughs at a girl getting her hand torn open? "So Sammy, what have we learned today?" He has that trademark Puckett smirk on his face. I wear the same face, doing my best to hide the immense pain I'm in._

_"That life's not what it looks like and we have to be smart while going about it. Or else we get hurt. And that pit bulls bite really freaking hard." His smile gets even bigger._

_"What do we do with these band aids when we are done with them?"_

"_Really, this again?" He raises a brow. "Ugh. Rip them off really hard and fast because no matter how bad that pain is, it's only temporary." A caring smile plays across his lips as he pats my head._

_"That's my Sammy. And don't forget that." I wish I could say I didn't but I did, and now I'm paying._

**A/N: Rack is a bed.**


	4. Smells like Gunpowder and Rope Oil

**A/N: So, the new revised version of this... revised I guess. This still goes to Megan (?). and no, I don't know who Megan is.**

"**Smell like Gunpowder and Rope Oil"**

"_Okay Sam, what truly makes a friend a friend?" he hands me a small black pistol, almost laughing when I come close to dropping it._

_"Well, I would answer but I know I'll just get shot down as soon as I'm done saying whatever it is I say. So instead of me spending the next twenty minutes trying to get this right, why don't you just tell me." I fire a shot, almost dropping the gun as I jump from the sound._

_"Nope. You can't learn if you don't try. So try again." I hang my head. This is getting annoying. He fires a shot from a big blue revolver with little letters on the side and I cringe from the noise. _

_"I didn't even try in the first place, so how am I supposed to try again?" he fires another shot and I punch him in the leg for not giving me ear plugs. "Fine. How about them being there when you are having a bad day?" _

_"Nope. Not even close." he fires off his remaining shots, bringing me close to complete deafness. He nudges me in the shoulder indicating for me to do the same. _

_"Ok then, what is it?" he smiles a goofy smile and looks down at me._

_"Eh. Maybe later." frustration washes over me. Aiming down the sights I fire what I have left and lower the gun. _

_"Asshole." I mutter under my breath. A sense of satisfaction washing over me._

Six weeks. I've been here six weeks, and my anti-dominance plan has backfired every step of the way. It's earned me record breaking scores. And I'm close to getting the top in marksmanship training. But all that earns me is a never ending stream of quarter-decking to discourage me from standing out, but I have to make it clear that I'm not just going to be a grub, some no-name in the background. As corny as it sounds, I'm going to be all I can be, and if I'm punished for that, then so be it.

It's Sunday now, my platoon's "free day", there's nothing really free about it. At least not for me, all I do is sit in the mess or rebuild my rifle again. The hats probably just use days like this to rest there vocal cords. Today I chose the mess, and so did a bunch of other people, some I recognize. But there also seems a lot of people from different platoons here as well. Hopefully they just leave me in peace to eat. In six weeks I've had 4 guys approach me with shitty pick up lines and leave with a new phobia. And as it looks, I'm about to repeat the process again. Stupid fuckers can't learn to leave me alone, how are they supposed to survive in the field?

"Hey, names Todd. Mind if I sit here?" he doesn't even wait for a response; he just sits down with a stupid look in his eye. "Nah didn't think you would. You know, now that I'm close you look really familiar, do we know each other? Did you used to have really long, curly hair? Because when I look at you I keep seeing long hair instead of this cut you got goin' on. Don't get me wrong it looks cute."

"Fraternization is... _frowned upon._" I mutter.

"Eh, you look fun enough, you really goin' to let a little thing like that stop you from a good time." Is this fucker ever going to shut up? I mean how fucking stupid can a person be? His hand darts across the table to my tray, grabbing a piece of food. "Mind if I take a bite, thanks." apparently, very fucking stupid, no one touches momma's food. So I do the first thing that comes to mind. I slam the end of my fork in his arm. And pull his ear close to my mouth.

"Listen up you stupid son-of-a-bitch. I'll give you one chance to apologize for taking my food and leave. I'd suggest you don't waste your chance, or something bad might happen." I slightly twist the fork before ripping it out causing his whole body to jerk as he drops the singular tater tot that he had tried to take. Quickly he stands and starts screaming at me. Holding his arm as blood trickles down it. This should be fun to hear.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH, WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I COME OVER HERE ALL NICE AND FRIENDLY WHAT DO YOU? YOU FUCKING STAB ME!" next thing I know he's throwing my tray across the mess hall, leaving food and some sort of goop all across the table. But before my butt gets three inches out of the seat, I hear his voice come to a grinding halt and a large hand is clamping down on my shoulder forcing me into my seat. And as I look up, I see that the large hand is unsurprisingly connected to a large man. He has short blondish read hair. Looks rather tall and probably around two-fifty of what I'm guessing is muscle. And that muscle is being used to form a vice grip on Todd's shirt with a strange look in his eye. But Todd seems to have had all color drained from his face. Looks as if they know each other.

"Listen up Todd_, _from what I heard she kindly asked you to go, now the polite thing to do would be to apologize, and take your leave." He pulls a polite smile on his face as Todd shakes his head like a frightened child.

"S-sorry T-T-Tanner. D-didn't mean to intrude." still shaking violently he turns and looks at me."S-s-sorry. I-I didn't m-mean to cause any t-trouble. I-I-I th-think I'll be l-leaving n-now." one eye slightly twitching.

"Now, before you go, let's go over what happened here. Ok?" Todd nods his head shakily as the big guy talks with a strange sense of cocky authority. "Alright, from what I saw, you came over here and politely asked her for a bite of food, to which she respectfully declined and asked you leave. You agreed and as you were getting up to leave, you somehow managed to get that nasty whole in your arm, and I'm just over here saying hello. Now, did I guess right about all of this or am I way out in left field?" Todd nods his head and big guy lets go of his shirt and as soon as he's clear, Todd quickly exits the mess and big guy takes his hand off my shoulder, sitting at the chair across from mine picking up the remaining tots off the table, popping one into his mouth with a big grin on his face.

"Ok. Uh. Thanks for helping me out the-" I don't even get to finish my sentence.

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned." Just a minute ago he was scaring the piss out of a man and now he's quoting Shakespeare or something. He just smiles, obviously to the confused look on my face. "You know that most people think that Shakespeare wrote that, but in fact it was first written by a man named William Congreve for one of his plays." He finishes by putting his head in his hand and eating another tot.

"Dude, what the fuck are you talking about? And why was he turned into a little girl as soon as you showed up?" he sighs before continuing.

"Not the academic type I see. Alright. Doesn't matter. The point is that I wasn't helping you. I was helping him. I don't want him to get rolled out of her on a cart with a fork stuck in his temple while you get taken out in chains pretty much wasting all of that hard work you've done while you've been here."

"Listen asshole. I don't know who you-"

"Name's Charles O'Brady. People call me Tanner due to my failed attempts at, well, getting a little sun. Yours being? No wait. I think I'll just call you Snuggles." a giant grin spreads across his face. I can't even get a word in."You know, due to your sunny disposition and all the course records you've shattered. I think it's rather fitting in all honestly. So now that that's over, let's get down to business." Something tells me that there's no winning with this guy.

"Alright Tanner. What do you have in mind?" a playful smile crossing my lips. The bells ring alerting us that chow time was over and it was time to go back to wherever we came from. We both get to our feet as the doors open from an angry D.I. walking in, letting fresh air into the hall. Tanner tilts his head upwards taking in a deep breath through his nostrils. He looks at me and smiles.

"Smell that Snuggles? Can you smell that?" I inhale but all I smell is burnt food.

"Sorry, I can't smell pain and fear like you bears do." I chuckle and wave my arm in front of me telling him to go ahead.

"Well to me it smells like burnt gunpowder," he turns around and lowers to my level, "rope oil and friendship." He just stares at me. Before turning on his heel and walking away. Singing, loudly _"__AND THE DANISH KING WAS CAPTURED, ALL OF HIS GUARDS WERE DEAD. FOR A RANSOM HE WAS RELEASED, THEN HIS PEOPLE TOOK HIS HEAD!"_

"O'BRADY, WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT THAT SINGING SHIT!" Tanner immediately switch's to a running cadence and exits the hall. "AND YOU BLONDIE, DID YOU STAB PRICHERD?"

"No Sergeant, I'm not familiar with that name." he just stares at me.

"Either way that jackass deserved it." he mutters before leaving the hall.

_Carmine brought us out to the targets he had lazily posted on the wall. All of his shots were, of course, dead center. While mine were sporadic, and I could tell from the look on his face, it wasn't good enough. He was sticking his fingers in the holes in the paper to check that they are in fact bullet holes, when he started speaking again. "What truly makes someone your friend-"_

_"Oh? So now you want to tell me?" he turns with a smile on his face._

_"Shut up. What truly makes someone your friend is when they are willing to stick up for you, take a bullet for you or a knife for you, even if you don't deserve it. When they can do this without hesitation, without regret, then they are truly your friend." I tilt my head to the side. _

_"Whatever you say old man, whatever you say." he smiles and slaps the back of my head playfully. _

_"Go reload, time to try again." I turn and head back to the head of the range with a smile on my face. Today is going to a long day._

**A/N: Drop a new rereview.**


	5. Breaking Point

**A/N: So, revised. Uh, thank you to French fried Potaters mmhmm. BlindMaster and dpp3530 still.**

"**Breaking Point"**

"_Alright. What do you do when given an unexpected situation?" he mutters pulling out a knife. _

"_Uh… what are you doing with that knife?" he twirls it in his hand effortlessly, like it's a part of him. _

"_Answer correctly and I'll tell you. Get it wrong and I show you. Then tell you." At first I thought he was just playing, I think I'm wrong. _

"_Ok then. That sounds… fair, um. Well, I guess you should… uh. Well." I'm standing completely still while he walks a slow circle around me, picking dirt out of his fingernails with the tip of the knife, as if I don't exist. I can't think under these conditions "I-I I don't fucking know, flip out and run away? I don't fucking know! PUT THE KNIFE AWAY, YOUR STARTING TO FREAK ME OUT!" he stops walking and puts a frown across his lips. Bobbing his head slightly as he inspects the blade. _

"_I told you that if you got it right I'd put the knife away, but you got it wrong. The right answer is to stop, keep calm, clear your head and think of what you do next. And then adapt. And since you can't seem to do that, I now have to show you what happens." before I understand what he means, he's coming at me with the knife, thrusting the tip at my abdomen. I barley get out of the way, but before I can regain my footing he brings the knife sideways at my stomach. I feel a sharp pain shot across me, putting my hand to my stomach its wet and warm. And upon seeing the knife, there's blood on it. I lift my hand and there's fresh blood dripping from it. My vision starts to turn white. I look at him and his face is a mix of determination and worry. Everything turns white._

I fucking hate my life. I hated it before I met her. And it's worse now that she's gone. For the first time in my life I decide that I want to do my best. So I shatter course records, ace every test, and become top dog. Just to have the Drill Instructors hand me a warning slip saying that if I don't work with others as a team then I'm dropped from the program. And I refuse to let that happen. So that's were Tanner steps in, I put in a request saying that I would _gladly _work as a team if the transferred me to his platoon. But they want to break me. So they tore it up right in front of me, then made it _very clear_ to me that I need to learn to adapt to any group of people and they aren't going to tailor make a training program just for me. Once they were done explaining this to me, they _gracefully _explained it to him as well.

Tanner and I have been friends for a few weeks now. Granted the only time we see eachother is on sunday, but other than that It's going great. It's nice to have a _new_ friend for once. I actually get to learn things whenever we talk. Not about me or him, but about random shit because it seems that he's a walking fact book. Or famous quotes. But i'm pretty sure some of it's made up. Depends on what kind of mood he's in. Or he can argue with me using big words, which sound really weird when his accent changes, which in and of itself is pretty weird. And when he goes crazy, hell zone out and sing songs by bands I've never heard of. Ask random question and cycle through random accents in mid sentence. Luckily the bits of crazy are few and far between.

Then there's the other times. When he gets really quiet and serious. And he'll ask me what I'm doing in the Marines. Who I was before. And I won't respond. So he hangs his head and apologizes, and switches back into one of the other personalities. He's like a big kid. Just like… he's like Spencer. Of course i'd think that. I had peace of mind for about a week. So naturally something from then has to come to mind. I'm not allowed peace. That'd be too easy.

I hear a loud clanking noise that rips me from my deeper thoughts. Glancing up I notice that Tanner has sat down across from me with an empty tray. Or was he there the whole time? I can't tell.

"How long have been sitting there?"

"Long enough for you to stare at me and get really sad. Which means that you were thinking. So naturally I must ask you not to do that, It's not good when you think." He leans back in his chair crossing his arms.

"And why, exactly, is it bad for me to think?" I mimic his actions.

"Well, whenever you think something bad happens to one of us." I lean forward resting my arms on the table just for him to reach across the table and swat them off. "No elbows on the table."

"Are you really telling _me_ how to behave in public? And I used to think you were smart." I finish by clicking my tongue and resting my elbows on the table again.

"Fine be rude." He's rests his feet up on the table. And he's correcting my manners? "What were you thinking about?"

"No." He bobs his head, muttering things under his breath. It takes me a full minute to realize that he's not mentally with us for the moment. "Tanner? Tanner? Tanner, TANNER." he shakes his head from side to side muttering apologizes under his breath. He stops moving and looks at me. "Have fun on your intergalactic space trip?" Raising my eyebrows questioningly, voice just dripping with classic Puckett charm.

"Riveting good time. Have you ever seen a star explode firsthand? Smashing good show!" for whatever reason he's speaking in a rather faulty cockney accent. "Sorry about that. So, you worried about the crucible?" the crucible. The final step we have to take to become marines. Fifty-four sleepless, foodless hours of nonstop combat scenarios. All the while marching fourty some odd miles miles.

"Nope. Why would I be worried? It's just days of constant torture. Are you worried?" Before he answers the mess doors open and one of the younger officers comes in shouting my name. I look at Tanner and he just shrugs. Glancing back at the officer I stand at attention. "YES SERGEANT?"

"You have a phone call, will you be taking it?" he says, practically gritting his teeth. "Something about a family emergancy. DAMMIT, IF YOU'RE TAKING THE CALL THEN HURRY UP." for some reason my entire body shakes as I stand, my being filling with dread. And for some reason I glance back at Tanner but find little solace in his face.

"MOVE IT MAGGOT." the hat was yelling from out of the room and my legs started carrying me forward. Shit. What if it's her? No. it can't be. He said family emergancy. So it can't be her. But what if it is?

Finally I get to the phone booths and the officer points me to a phone. It's a deathly white dinosaur of technology connected to a think box on the wall by a large black cable. Prison phones aren't this tough looking. The door closes as the he leaves to give me privacy, I raise the phone to my ear and after what seems to be an eternity I speak.

"Hello?" my voice dry and cracking, I try to swallow but nothing happens.

"_Sam? It's Mel." _A sense of relief washes over me as I hear her voice. Then anger.

"What do you want?" I practically hiss.

"_What? I can't call and have a friendly chat with my only sister?"_

"Sorry but I'm pretty sure you told me you never wanted to speak to me again after I didn't go to Pam's funeral. Of course that was after you yelled at me and cried for two hours." It's true. I didn't go to her funeral. But that's because I didn't feel she deserved it.

"_Sam. I'm don't care about that anymore. Granted I can't forgive you for not going but-"_

"You can't forgive me for not going to the funeral of a drunk, drugged up slut?"

"_IT WAS OUR MOTHER SAM. SHE RAISED US. HOW COULD YOU NOT GO?"_

"No Mel." For the first time in my life I can't find it in me to be angry. "She birthed us. She _tried_ to raise _you_ while I was put in the corner and… just why are you calling?"

"_Well, I thought it best if you heard the news from someone you know, if at all."_

"What news? What are you talking about?"

"_Uncle Carmines dead." _I try to respond but I can't find my voice. Because something inside me starts to crack and the edges of my vision start to turn white. _"He was on his way home from work when he stopped at a gas station. As it turns out it was being robbed and he decided he'd stop it and the thief's shot him in the process. He had something he wanted to tell you. Something about quite be-" _I don't hear what she says.

I feel the phone slip and hit the floor. Carmine dead. No. He can't die. He couldn't ever die. He's Carmine. He said that he would never die. That he would always be there when something happened. But, he always was a liar. That thing inside me snapped in half and everything turned white.

_When I came to reality I was standing over him. Breathing heavily. My hands feel like all the bones in them are broken and the pain in my stomach was gone. Looking down I saw him lying on his back, laughing._

"_Back already?" he moves me to the side, sitting up. "I think you broke my nose" _

_"WHAT WAS ALL THAT ABOUT?" _

_"I needed to see if you could handle shock. And you freaking lost it. You've got some angere issues". When the people in my family are introduced to a large shock, they tend to go, well berserk._

_"So you had to pull a knife on a ten year old girl?"_

_"Worked didn't it."_

_"What if someone got hurt?" Sure both of us are hurt, but we are up and moving, which means we were fine. "Spoken like a true Puckett."_

_"Why does it matter if I do?"_

_"Because Sam, if you can't stop it from happening, stop that internal safety from breaking, then people will get hurt." He points at his face "Case in point."_

_"So today's lesson is about my temper, not unexpected situations?"_

_"Was it not an unexpected situation that got us here in the first place? And today's goal is to teach you how to control that anger."_

_"But you could of died from hard I was hitting you." He stared laughing. "Don't worry. I can't die. I'll always be there to help you out. Besides, you hit like a girl." I sighed as I helped him up. I never learned that lesson._


	6. Off The Edge

"**Off The Edge"**

_**Three years ago**_

"Sam, you okay?" glancing up I'm greeted by her big brown eyes. She's standing there dressed in heavy clothes, covered in snow. I'm not even sure how she got in here. I remember locking the door, but your mind can create things, things that aren't there, things that don't exist, especially when you haven't slept in days. But still something inside me says it's true. Why is she even here, we aren't even close now. But still she stands there, her eyes full of curiosity and concern, digging through me, through my soul to find an answer, the truth to a question i'd rather leave unasked. Because she'll find out, it'll scare her. Because I'm not bothering to hide it, not anymore. And when she sees it, she won't like what she sees. And I'm done lying to her. Because all it does is make her hate me more and more. But maybe that's what I need. Maybe this is because of her. No, I can't hold anything against her.

"If only, If only." then she sees it, a small pocket knife held tightly to my left wrist, flicking its way across the flesh leaving bleeding lines across my arm. Each line closer to the main artery. I'm not really trying to commit suicide, and I'm not cutting because I feel sad like those emo kids. It's just one of those things where I don't feel it anymore. Or anything really. So I didn't even realize when I pulled out the knife and started sliding it across my arm a few minutes ago. God, Carly has the worst timing. Then there was a loud gasp as the knife was swatted from my hands and she franticly wrapped her scarf around my arm as a make-shift bandage. And I can just tell that the only thing on her mind is my safety.

"SAM, what…what…what the FUCK is wrong with you?" I chuckle at her use of language, despite the sudden pain coursing through me. Trying to lie down she yanks me back up, panic dominating her features as she freaks out over the cuts. "Why Sam. Why would you try something like this?" she finally looks up and I see the pain in her eyes and instantly my pain is gone, whether it's the endorphins or the waves of guilt washing over me, I know this is crushing her, more than anything anyone else could do to her. But that doesn't change what happened, and no matter what I say will change her thoughts on the situation. I love her, and I can't have her. It dawned on me a month ago. It shocked me at first. Then I thought about it. It makes sense in a lot of places. "Sam you can't do this sort of thing."

"Why not. Why would it matter?" she looks at me, full of fear, trying to find ways to explain it to me. But I know why. Because she needs me. But never in the way I want her to need me. But because I'm a part of her life, and as stable and smart as Carly is, she doesn't handle change well. And maybe this will show her she can't keep the same routine. No, she's too stubborn. Even if I die, she'll just go through her life, acting as if nothings changed. Because she doesn't know how to handle emotional stress. She would just be a shell of herself for awhile.

"Because Sam. You…you're important to me" Words are a dangerous thing. They can fill one with hope and just as fast take it away. Especially when you don't truly listen to the meaning. "You're important to all of us, Sam." Everyone. There is no everyone. Only her. The only people I know that don't sell drugs or steal and get drunk, I know through her. So even if I matter, I'll never matter in the way I need to.

"Bullshit. The only one that would even bat an eyelash if I was gone is you. And that's now an iffy subject too. Ain't it?" I want her to know that I'm like this because of her, but at the same time I can't tell her. Because she would destroy her world for me. And I can't let her do that. Maybe not anymore, but she would still want to, and that would be enough to internally destroy her.

"You're being selfish. I know you like to take the easy route through everything, but at the same time you have to make that route the hardest thing for anyone else to follow you on, and I know you probably feel alone, but that's because you won't let anyone but me get close, and even then you hide the real you. And this…this right here, what you're doing isn't you Sam. You're not a quitter. You're a fighter." I'm awe struck, it's not often she does anything serious when it comes to me, she doesn't really help me, she's just supposed to hold me when everything starts to be too much. And that's not an option anymore. "Don't think that doing this makes things easier, because it doesn't, it makes things harder for everyone around you, so don't think of yourself; think of how horrible MY life is going to be without you. How many mistakes I would make without you there telling me how you've been down that road and how it's a horrible idea." Tears are welling up in her eyes and she's right. But I already knew all this, I just didn't care. But know I do.

I don't say anything, there isn't anything to say. So I just pull her into my arms as she starts to cry, asking in a silent voice why I would do something like this. I lay back still holding her, trying to comfort her somehow. But all I can do is hold her, because I'm not meant for this, I'm not supposed to be her rock. Not anymore and nothing will ever change that. I just hope nothing ever tries. Because I wouldn't be able to take it. But only half of me understands how reality works, and it understands that we aren't friends anymore. And this is the last time we are going to be this close, and it's all downhill from here.


	7. Into The Abyss

**A/N: So, aduckinahat wins through Google. And anybody reading the revised version won't have any idea what I'm talking about.**

**""Into the Abyss"**

I hate this. I hate when this happens to me. It's been a long time since this happened last, and I thought I had overcome it. But it doesn't work that way, at least not for me. Because I have been damned to a life of control loss and emotional turmoil. And that's what I fight through to keep going, but sometimes I wonder, truly wonder, is it worth it? Is it worth it to keep struggling now that she's gone? She was my driving force, she gave me the will to fight. And now shes gone, because I was a coward and a liar. And now I spend every minute I have trying to redeem myself in the eyes of those around me. But can one truly be redeemed from such thing, to destroy the ones you love? Can I truly make this horrible feeling pumping through my veins go away? Or can I just suppress it enough to keep moving forward as a dying shell that I'm becoming. I just wish to know the answer already, so I don't have to be stuck in this emotional whirlpool with no escape in sight. If only, if only.

I'm floating, I don't know how or why. But its a horrible feeling. Like I've thrown off all meaning and this is my punishment. But its not that simple. I know why I'm here, it hit me like a slingshot and I remember know. He's dead. He dead and he's gone. And I feel like it's my fault, I threw off my responsibilities and took the easy way out. And this is what I've earned for it. My own miniature damnation of sorts. My own internal purgatory I'm thrown into because I'm not strong enough for the stress life throws at me. And now that I'm here, stuck in this white hell wondering who is controlling my body. The feeling is faint, like I have to concentrate to feel it but my body is moving. I feel it as pain is slowly creeping into my hands and something is happening, something I cant control. And I cant truly ponder as to what because my sight is filled with a field of flowers. A tall field of flowers, of every color size and shape, and if I wasn't me I would find it beautiful. But before I can really look at my new surroundings something is in my way. Or someone.

I know who it is, or rather who it represents. She smells like tropic, just like the night I left. And it feels like I'm there again. Shes wearing the same outfit as that night. Everything is the same, even my surroundings have morphed without my knowledge to become the inside of Carly's room. But the pain in my hands remains, in fact it's worse now, as if my fighting someone. And more pain is spreading through my body as being struck by a club.

She even has that gut-wrenching look on her face. That soul sucking sad smile that she had before I told her. But somethings off, I can feel my lips moving and her head is nodding as if I'm speaking but no words are coming out. And her eyes are different, like their dead. "Sam? Why would you do this to me?" I didn't hear it at first because she was so quiet but I caught it, and I wish I hadn't. Even though what she said didn't mean much, it made me feel like I just stabbed myself in the heart. And I want to respond but nothings coming out of my mouth. She takes a step back and starts to fade. I try to move but I'm locked in place. And I'm begging in a silent voice for her to stay, but there's no words. And then she's gone and I feel my eyes shut against my will but there's nothing I can do. Because my eyes have opened and all the pain that was slowly creeping in my body is now full force and I'm sure now that I've been in a fight. And I know where I am now. And I don't want to be here.

I'm in the the phone room. And I feel like I'm full of rage and my visions blurry so I don't know exactly whats happening but I know that I'm choking someone. Because my arms are outstretched and I can feel my hands just squeezing as hard as they can. But I don't know who it is and that worries me. Because no matter who it is, this isn't going to end well. As my vision clears I see who it is and my heart sinks. It was going so well too.

It's Tanner. He's under me and his face is beat red and my hands are wrapped around his neck and he shaking. And he has a certain look on his face, a look I've seen many times in my life. It's a look someone gets when they make expectations for someone just to have them thrown back in there face. It a mix of disappointment and disgust. And it cuts into me like a knife.

I at last regain control of my body and loosen the grip one his neck and take a step back and glance around the room and its torn up. The phone box has a few fist sized dents in it, there's cracks in the desk it was connected to. There's a few blood splatters on the walls and floor and I recognize the pain in me fully. Looking around more I see the officer that brought me in here is on the floor, missing a few teeth and with a broken nose at the least and there's blood pooling around head and I know I caused it. He could be dead and its my fault. Remembering what else I've done I turn back to Tanner to see if he's alright and I see that he's up and moving.

"What happe-" I don't get to finish my sentence because I feel the full brunt force of his large fist connecting with my lower jaw and I stumble back as the world twirls and goes black.


	8. And Back Again

"**And Back Again"**

It's not the first time someone that I care about has hit me in the jaw. But it is the first time I've been ever been knocked out by it, or by a single punch at least. But the worst part isn't that he hit me and might of broke my jaw, but the worst is the face he had. It was cold and calculating, unlike the crazy look he had when I snapped back into reality from my mental prison, it's closer to that of when he is concerned or trying to figure out things about me to be a better friend. What worries me is that he found it in his, and my, best interest to knock me out cold. But after that, I don't know.

My whole head hurts and I feel like someone slammed a sledgehammer in my face. I'm not sure where I am but I'm laying down and my head is on something soft, which means someone has been caring for my health. But that could be good or bad. If it's someone that found me there, it would be bad. But if it was him, and he was really trying to help me, then maybe there is still a way through this.

I open my eyes groggily and see the dark oak ceiling of my rack quarters. There's light inside, natural light, which means that its daytime and the silence tells me that it's still during training hours. But it's impossible for me to tell what time. I hear footsteps and I lock up, slamming my eyes shut. I remain still, breathing deeply as if I'm still sleeping. And it feels like I'm eleven again, hiding from my mother's wrath. The footsteps come to a halt next to my bed and an undying sense of... fear, washes over me. It's something I haven't felt in a long time, and I know why. Its because I never had to be around it. There was always a place I could go to avoid it. But now that place is gone, on the other side of the country. And I'm left to wonder, am I making the right choice in coming here?

"Wake up. You killed some of my brain cells but not that many." it was him, but instead sarcasm, his voice is flat, emotionless. I open my eyes again, still seeing the world through slight blur, I can see him standing above me, but his stance is off. Instead of his normal look, he has a stance I know very well. It's one you get when you know something bad is going to happen and you're just preparing for the impending storm about to hit your life. "Are you you or are you the other you?"

"I'm me, I guess, I mean how can I really be sure?" he pulls up a small metal chair and sits next to my rack and looks straight into my eyes, as if searching for something. And I feel ashamed for some reason. Like this is the first time I've ever hurt someone and my my parents sat down to ask me why. But I never got that experience, so I can only assume it feels as bad as this. He doesn't respond at first, he just lowers his eyes to the floor.

"Well, your not trying to rip out my jugular, so that's a good start." he keeps his eyes on the floor, as if he can't stand the sight of me. I can't take this. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, planting them firmly on the floor before trying to stand just to lose my balance and fall back on the bed. "Careful. I hit you pretty hard, actually I'm surprised you woke up as fast as you did." he still wont look at me. And it's driving me crazy.

"Yeah, I remember that love tap you gave me, why was that again? Oh, better yet, what the fuck happened?" all sarcasm aside, I need to know what happened. Like how we got here, what happened to the officer. And why I'm not in cuffs.

"The officer is in critical condition over at the hospital. And I told everyone that you ate some bad food and weren't doing good, so everyone thinks that you are locked in the crapper chucking your brains out. That was, of course, before I _found_ the Sergeant in the phone room. The only people that now that you were in the room at the time is me, you and the half dead guy. Oh. They're also still looking for who did it." he looks up at me and there is something in his eyes, something I can't place. "Now tell me Sam, why are you here?"

"Why does that fucking matter?" why would it matter why I'm here. Why would it matter why anyone is here?

"It matters because you've been fucked up since you got here. And what ever you heard in that damn phone call made you try to _kill _me. So just tell me why you are here?" For whatever reason he's pointing at the wall, in the general direction of the phone room as If to make me remember. As if I could forget.

"I didn't try to kill you." he tilts his head forward and glares through me. "Okay maybe I did, but It wasn't on purpose. I don't want you dead. You're probably the only person left on the planet that gives a rats ass about me. And why does it matter why I'm here. My reasons are my own." I don't feel like lying anymore, but at the same time, I can't bring myself to tell the truth. But then again, what is the truth exactly. For so long this has all felt like a dream. And at this point, I could be in a coma and not know. Let alone care.

"Why are you here?" his voice is flat, his hands are balled into fist and almost as if he is at the end of his rope. "I know I've asked before, but now I'm curious as to why a former teen celebrity, who had a nice life laid before them, is in the Marines." he looks at me and his eyes are accusing, mad, almost... incriminating.

"My life wasn't like that. And what I'm doing here is my business, not yours. My life was crap, Okay?" I feel wrong, I shouldn't be arguing with him, not like this. Because he has a point. Why am I here? Is it because I feel the need to prove myself? "And if your so keen on back stories, why don't you tell me yours, huh?" I don't want this. Why is my natural defense to push everyone away?

"This isn't about me Sam. This is about you, and the guy you nearly killed." It's like a shock to the system, hearing those words again. If he dies, does that make me a murderer? I beaten many people to the brink of death, but I've never tried to kill anyone. I've wanted to, many times, but I never thought I had it in me.

"Whats it matter why I'm here? Whats the difference between you and me? There isn't one. We are here. Nothing more, nothing less. It's simple. The _why_ isn't important." that's a lie, there are so many differences between us. And it shouldn't matter, but something keeps telling me it does.

"All I want to know is if your here for the right reasons. Because, Sam, it really does matter. I need to know how much being here means to you." are there truly right reasons to be here? And how much does this mean to me? Do I really want this. Deep down, do I really want this?

As a feeling of guilt washes over me I hide my face in my hands. And a new feeling pushes it's way to the surface. I don't know how to describe it, but what it makes me want to do is why it surprises me. I hear a bell and I know that the training time is almost up, which means that this room is soon to become a central hub for the rest of the recruits. It also means that conversation doesn't have much longer to go. I look up and he's just staring at me. I feel myself wringing my hands together and I feel so nervous. I can't believe I'm about to do his.

"I made a mistake. A huge mistake. And I punished myself over it for so long, I still do. And not a day goes by that I wish it didn't happen. But it did, and everything crashed afterwards. I just wish that I could go back in time and choose a different path, do something else, but I cant and that's why I ended up here. And when I got that phone call, I just freaked out. I found out someone very close to me died. That's why the whole choking thing happened." I finish by dropping my hands and looking at the floor.

"Hypocrisy, thy name is Sam." I look up at him and he doesn't look angry anymore. But more like he's searching for something. Answers to unasked questions. Solutions to unnamed problems. Then he turns, like he found one but he isn't sure of what it is yet. But he looks back at me. "The marines is a place where people, strong of heart and character, go to make something of themselves. They rise and fall, struggle to keep up and some fail from the pressure. Even the best of them fail at times. And yet you show up here, set course records, shatter times and end up one of the best soldiers to ever be produced from here. And yet, you did this all because you were running from a mistake, something that can be fixed." the chatter of voices from outside in the distance is recognizable now, they're close. Tanner's expression changes, to one that a scientist would get after figuring out a problem. A look of conclusion. "Sam, falling in love isn't a bad thing. No matter who its with. All you have to do is try. You had no reason to be worried, they weren't going to hate you for it." how can he figure it out? How can he just riffle through my inner thoughts and pick me apart for answers just like that? Is he some sort of fucking mind reader? Or am I just that easy to read?

He stands and makes his way to the door, but stops. "I'm here because I have a wife and two daughters. And just a year ago I was a twenty eight year old drunk in a crappy apartment, with a shit job. Then I realized that what I was doing wasn't just hurting me, but my family as well. And if I enlist, then they pay for my family's house, and my kid's college." he turns his back to me. "The difference between me and you is that, I'm here because people are counting on me. And your here because you're a coward." before I get a chance to respond he's out the door and the other recruits are flooding in. Some of them take notice of me as I curl into a ball on my bunk. I feel sick, truly sick, as I think over what just happened, and what all is going to happen before this is over. And I lay there, Tanner's words rampaging through my mind. _"You're a coward."_ the last thing I remember before passing out is the other recruits commenting on how sick I must be to look like this. If only they knew.

I got through the next eighteen hours without much incident. Well if nonstop internal storms count as little incident. Then yeah. But now I'm here, in the main building of Parris island, in formation with all the other recruits, in full combat gear. My gun, my eighty pound ruck sack, and all other "necessary" gear. Waiting for them to start the crucible. Something I've been dreading since yesterday. Not the crucible itself, but because a large part of me wants to step forward and admit to beating that officer. But there is another part of me, the part that wants to keep it's mouth shut and move on. Just like I would of not long ago. The base commander, the big angry guy from when I first got here, steps out gets on a small platform. And in a booming voice ask us all if there is anything we would like to say. And I'm going to do it. I have to. I came here to be a better person and keeping my mouth shut is a bit counter productive.

But my body locks up as I open my mouth to speak. My legs turn to stone and I cant move. Then it happens, the commander is speaking of the officer. "YESTERDAY, A YOUNG OFFICER BY THE NAME OF ROGER HUDSEN" hearing a name, putting a name to that beaten face in my memory just makes the guilt in me skyrocket. "WAS FOUND IN THE PHONE ROOM, BEATEN, LYING IN A POOL OF HIS OWN BLOOD. HE HAS A BROKEN NOSE, A SHATTERED SKULL, PELVIS AND COLLAR BONE. HE ALSO HAS SIX BROKEN RIBS. WE, AT THIS TIME, DO NOT HAVE A SUSPECT. BUT WE KNOW IT WAS SOMEONE HERE. SO, BEFORE WE HAVE TO START A BASE WIDE INVESTIGATION, RUINING ALL OF YOUR TRAINING AND MAKING ALL YOUR WORK FOR NAUGHT, WE ASK THE ONE WHO DID THIS TO SEP FORWARD. TO WHOMEVER COMMITED THIS ATROCIOUS ACT, STEP FORWARD AND SAVE YOURSELF THE TROUBLE AND GUILT. YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO COOPERATE." now, I have to do it now. I don't have time for this anymore. Just say it. "THIRTY SECONDS." just fucking say it. "TWENTY SECONDS" It's not that hard to say. "FIFTEEN SECONDS" 'I beat that guys face in.' "TEN SECONDS" JUST FUCKING SAY IT. My whole body is shaking, trying to force my mouth to work. But it wont. "FIVE SECONDS" my mouth opens, I'm about to say it when a voice rings out behind me. I knew he was back there, I wasn't sure where but I knew he was there. And I can't believe he's saying what he's saying.

"IT WAS ME, I DID IT." I turn and there he is, two rows back, his hand in the air and his eyes drilling holes into me for a moment before looking straight.

"STEP FORWARD SON." he lowers his arm, and takes a few steps forward, going out of his way to walk by me. We lock eyes and his words from last night fill my mind _"You're a coward." _He gets close, and in a flash is right next to me.

"Don't make this for nothing." He takes a few more steps forward before the MP's take his arms and pull him away. _"Don't make this for nothing."_ Why would he do that? Why would he ruin his life for me? Was that stuff about a wife and kids a lie? No, it wasn't. It couldn't have been. But still, why?

"THE REST OF YOU GET A MOVE ON!" the commander blows a whistle and everyone rushes past me towards the door. Eager to start the crucible and become true marines. All except me. I can only stare at where Tanner just was and wonder as to why he did what he did. "MOVE IT." the commander is screaming directly at me and I notice that the whole room is empty save me and him. I make my way to the doors, walking at first, then moving to a jog before I break into a sprint. Busting through the doors into the cool, crisp air. Almost blinded by the bright light.


	9. Cataclysm pt 1

**A/N: So here we go. I just said fuck it and started typing this. And the next chapter could range from one to five thousand words. Not sure. Well some things I would like to explain. M.O.S is the role you play in your squad. As in using a rifle. A dmr. A machine gun. That's what that means. And I know that the U.S military will probably replace all the Humvees by then, but that doesn't look as cool. Uhm, Sam is a marksman, not a sniper. A marksman has a semi auto rifle while snipers use bolt actions most the time. The Osprey is bad-ass, if you didn't know, And Recon is the Marine Force Recon. Which are the even more bad-ass form of marines. These are real places in Afghanistan. And the next chapter(s) will be like this. Oh, and the M110 is a semi auto sniper the military is going to start using. Hers has a ****AN/PVQ-31 Rifle Combat Optic ( Marine ACOG sight). Oh yeah, there's roughly 4-6 marines in a squad. And 2 or 3 squads in a section. One more thing. The ma deuce is the m2 browning fifty cal machine gun. I know I know. Its probably going to be replaced by then as well, but not in my world. Same thing with the m4.**

_**Cataclysm. (PT 1)**_

_**Seven years later**_

**November 30th, 2018. 1930 hours. (7:30 pm.)**

**Kandahar Marine base.**

**U.S.M.C 2nd reconnaissance battalion.**

**Cpl. Samantha Puckett. M.O.S Designated Marksman.**

As I bust into the bright, boiling hot air I move into formation with the rest of my squad. In fact the rest of my section was in loose formation around the Master Gunny. I've been on the most backwards ass missions in the most backwater places in this fucking country. And word has the shit might be hitting the fan over in some town. It might be wrong to hope a city of people has gone to shit, but I just don't care. I want my mission somewhere where I can find fucking cover.

"Well RECON, good to see you lazy fuckers woke this at this time of the night. And I REALLY hope y'all turned in your permission slips and got a yes from your parents, because you're going on a field trip. Because I am tired of looking at your sorry ass mugs all day." YES. Wait, be a city, be a city, be a fucking city.

"Where to, sir?" The question is asked by one of my squad mates, LCpl. Jonathan "Tonto" Shilah. He's a tall, dark haired man. Obviously of Native American decent, hence the nickname. And no, it's not a racist slur about his bloodline, it's what he asked us to call him. And he has a bit of an obsession with name meanings, saying something about they define who we are. Which adds to the Indian thing. He also happens to be my battle buddy. And I know hes got my back, even now. I wouldn't be surprises if he asked that question because he knows I want to know.

"Well, depending on what you find there, it's either the big suck or a small city named Ferah. Now mount up, you leave now." I look over at Tonto and hes as blank as always. But he looks back at me.

"I hope your happy, thousands of people might be dead or dying, but at least you get to go to your precious city." Low blow. "I'm sorry I don't share your looks on life." He finishes with a smirk and I stop myself from punching his face for reminding me I have conscious.

"AH, come on. It's better than hoofing our way through the desert again, don't it." I mention as I go back to get my gear. After a quick bag check and a short walk I find myself standing in the loading bay of a V-22 Osprey. With twenty other recon marines with me. Waiting for the bay door to close and the craft to take off. I strap myself in. Setting my M110 between my legs. Next to me is Jonathan, but he looks... grim. God, what a fucking downer. "What is it this time?"

"I have bad feeling about this one. It doesn't feel right." He keeps looking forward.

"Come on, it's just a recon mission, what's the worst that could happen?" The bay door shuts as the Osprey lifts from the ground. The bay is dark for a moment before the lights come on, bathing us in red light. It's just a recon mission, go in, look around, get out. What could possibly happen?

* * *

**Two days later.**

**December 2nd, 2018. 1630 hours. (4:30 pm.)**

**PFC. Dominic "Rook" Martin. M.O.S Riflemen.**

**3rd battalion, 25th Marine regiment.**

**Location: West of Kandahar Afghanistan, in route to the city of Ferah.**

**Objective: To locate and assist elements of the 2nd reconnaissance battalion that have gone dark after making possible contact with hostile forces.**

**E.T.A at city: 1745 hours. (5:45 pm. sundown)**

"So, why exactly are taking a seven hour road trip to a "neutral" city again." I said, pulling my head back into the Humvee, after getting some air to cool off. This things a/c went out about an hour into the trip.

"Because every no name jackass in this hell hole thinks if he can get a few people together he can become a fucking dictator." Was the response. It was given by LCpl. Jeffery Donaldson. He's a shorter man, with black hair and calculating brown eyes. We joined together and trained together. Just to be deployed together. But he's more of my brother than anything. We're both sitting in the back of the Humvee. He is sitting next to me with an open map in his lap. Tracing and retracing our route. It's like he has some sick obsession with knowing where we are going, and how to get there. Hence the map.

"No shit." I tap his helmet to actually get his attention. He looks up, agitation in his eyes. "I meant, why do _we_ have to go up there to rescue those Recon douche bags. I thought they were supposed to be able to take care of themselves. And if they were so far in enemy lines, shouldn't they send Recon to get them out?" But he doesn't respond, he just looks back down at his map. Instead I got a response from the man in the driver seat.

"Because Rook, they were just doing recon. They weren't prepared for a combat mission. There was Intel saying that some yokels got some guns and were amassing whoever they could find to try and take a hit at the government, or us. So we sent up those recon "Douche bags" to see if it was true." It was Cpl. James Parker. Man of about 6'2'', with blond hair, green eyes and a face full of scars. He was a bit of a cynical bastard, but when you've had 3 tours of duty and seen many of your brethren fall next to you, you tend to get that outlook on life.

"And the reason we have to come up here is because they had confirmed possible hostile forces before all communication was cut. Ariel photos suggest that the rebels found out they were in the city and have since made it there mission to kill them. That was two days ago. It's our mission to provide any needed assistance. No man left behind." It was a deep voice. Coming from the passenger seat. The man was Sgt. Charles O'Brady. He is a large man. Seems to be about thirty five years old, maybe a little older. He is a nice man, but I wouldn't even dream of taking him on. Guy's a fucking lunatic. I heard that during his first time through boot camp he almost beat someone to death, but they let him go because the evidence was inconclusive. Even better, he's my squad leader. But even so, he always seems so... lighthearted. But his eyes tell a different story, they say that that he has seen enough things to last a lifetime. Maybe more

"Semper fi." I mutter under my breath. Way of the Marines.

"Shut up and keep an eye out for I.E.D's. We don't want this trip to end early."

**1750 hours. (5:50 pm.)**

**Convoy has reached city outskirts and is proceeding inward to last known location of Recon forces.**

"I dunno, this just don't feel right." Jeffery said, poking his head down from the turret.

"Yeah, I'm with Jeff on this one. Isn't this a city, so why the fuck is it deserted?" I don't get a response.

"Richards, this is Tanner, you see anything up there?" He is speaking to Sgt. Henry Richards. I don't know much about him besides the fact that he is the other Sargent on the mission and he's in the Humvee in front of us, there's four of them in total. I can see a soldier in the turret in front of us, scanning all the buildings on the narrow streets for signs of life before saying something to the people inside the Humvee.

"Bravo, this is alpha, we ain't got nothin' up here. Just dirt, sand, and and some emp-" the radio was cut off by a loud explosion and a barrage of gun fire at the Humvee in front of us as the man on the turret collapses and goes limp. "SHIT, WE GOT POSITIVE CONTACT. GET OUT OF HERE, MOVE, MOVE!" But before the their Humvee has the chance to speed up a small object flies through the air, leaving a signature streak of white smoke, as it slams in to the grill of the lead Humvee. Causing the front end to explode in a ball of flames and burnt parts as it slams to a screeching halt. The rest of the truck soon catches fire as the loudest thing in the area becomes the wretched screams of the poor souls that survived the blast and were left to the flames as we drive by.

"GODDAMMIT. JEFF, GET ON THE MA DUECE AND KEEP THOSE FUCKERS OFF US. PARKER GET US THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" He grabs the radio and starts barking orders into it as the Humvees start to speed out of the area.

"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD. OH MY FUCKING GOD, THEY ARE DEAD MAN, THEY ARE FUCKING DEAD!" My mouth keeps spewing out the words. Those guys are dead. All of a sudden, all the buildings are full of men in robes holding old Kalashnikovs.

"OBJECTIVE IS TEN KLICKS SOUTH BY SOUTH- ROOK, SHUT THE FUCK UP! SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST. EVERYONE, GET THERE NOW!" My mouth locks up and he finishes by throwing the radio at the dashboard. "FUCK. Looks like we found the locals. Now someone please tell me where in THE FUCK RECON IS!" I hold my head in my hands as the roar of the fifty continues overhead. Why are we fucking here?

**A/N: yeah, well, it begins. And the shit has yet to hit the fan. And believe it or not, most of the characters you are about to meet aren't important to the story. Just these chapters coming up. So don't expect them to be in the story later when its about cam. And yes, we will get there.**


	10. Cataclysm pt 2

**A/N: Wow, it's been awhile. Sorry for that. My computer crashed. And I have to use a different one for now and I don't know how long I'll have it. So I would like to pump out as much as I can. So ohm, Two or three more chapters and we are back in a familiar setting and we can get on with all. And if the next few chapters seem rushed, they are. So you know how in video games and movies when someone gets in a wreak or a crash they go in and out a bunch of times as they get dragged somewhere, well that's basically what's happening at the beginning of this chapter. And Sam's ka-bar is about a foot long with a 7 inch blade. And yes, I gave Sam a growth spurt. You guys better not bitch about this.**

**Cataclysm Pt. 2**

**December 2nd, 2018. 1803 hours. (6:03 p.m.)**

**PFC. Dominic "Rook" Martin. M.O.S Riflemen.**

**3rd battalion, 25th Marine regiment.**

**Location: Somewhere inside the city of Farah. In route to possible Recon location.**

**Objective: To locate and assist elements of the 2nd reconnaissance battalion that has gone dark after making possible contact with hostile forces.**

**Status: Under fire from local militia forces.**

"LEFT, GO LEFT!" Tanner screamed from the front of the humvee. We are flying down a central road in the city getting shot at by endless streams men in robes pouring out of the dusty city buildings.

"WHAT FUCKING LEFT?" Replied James from the driver seat.

"THE LEFT YOU JUST FUCKING MISSED!"

"DO YOU WANT TO FUCKI-" He was cut off by a scream from the turret as the humvee lurches on to its front left wheel before completely flipping as my sight changes from dusty buildings to a darkening sky and finally the worn and torn road as my hearing is overpowered by the sound of crunching metal and my world turns black.

I regain consciousness to the sound of automatic fire and screaming in multiple languages. My sight slowly returns and I can see a flipped humvee with bits of wrenched metal strewn about and small fires burning on the wreckage. Behind that are burnt out buildings and toppled road barriers. I try to move but my body refuses to respond and my head is moved for me and I see James hovering above.

"Rook. Rook, look at me. Can you move?" I don't respond, I just look around. Somewhere to my right is Tanner, crouched behind a piece of rubble fighting to reload his weapon. To my left is Jeff doing the same. The world flashes again and I've been pulled up against something for cover and James is gone. Replaced by Jeff holding a radio yelling… something. But everything else is still gunfire and screaming.

The world flashes again but this time it's not blurs and screaming. Looking around I can also see that I'm basically in the same spot where I was last time I regained consciousness. I find Tanner to my left, systematically popping from makeshift cover and taking shots just to have some fired back at him causing dust and chips of pavement to pop off the cover in front of him. "I've got shots comin' and I don't know from where, you got eyes on?" I hear a radio crackle to life as an unknown, static filled voice comes through.

"_Copy." _A man's voice comes from the radio. At first guess, I would say, and hope, that its one of the recon. "_Sam, see what you ca-"_ Another voice interrupts him, this time it belongs to a woman, or someone that never hit puberty.

"_On it, three guys flanking left. By the shop." _A shot comes through the radio, silenced but loud enough for me to hear it. "_Got one, two more by the old sedan." _Tanner looks up and over before firing a few shots at something. When he comes down his face has a strange look on it. _"Good hits. Wait, something is coming from up the road, Tonto, you see that?" _Tanner practically flinches at her voice. I'm guessing from the cuss words he's muttering under his breath he recognizes it, and he doesn't seem to be happy to hear it. But I lose focus when a deep rumbling fills the area.

"_What are you talkin' ab- FALL BACK, FALL BACK. WE GOT A T-54 COMEIN DOWN THE ROAD." _At this Tanner seems to forget his personal conflict. Tanner sees me and figures out that I'm awake.

"Of course. Now you wake up. PARKER, JEFF, FALL BACK." He grabs me under the arms and immediately starts to drag me from where we were as the tank fires a round with an amazing "boom" that's almost like thunder before the round slams into a building bringing down a wall. I'm pulled around a corner and I can see the remains of what's been happening. Bodies, scorch marks and shell casings litter the area. I can also see Jeff and James systematically providing covering fire. But what sticks out is the lack of Humvees in the area. All I can see is the burnt remains of the one we were in. Then I see it, the old soviet tank turning that 100 mm turret in my direction.

"Tanner. TANNER, TANN-"

"I FUCKING SEE IT" He screams but his voice is overpowered by the sound of the tank firing as the world, once again, turns black. But this time it's accompanied by the feeling of being kicked in the chest. I really hate being knocked out.

Sometime** later.**

Once again I regain consciousness to find I'm propped up against a wall. My vision starts to clear and for the first time in what I'm guessing has been hours I can feel the rest of my body. And it feels like I just got in a fist fight with a bull with my hands and feet tied behind my back. I shake my head to get rid of the grogginess, and it helps. I can see again and I'm met with a lightly furnished room that's the color of vomit. I try to stand but I'm forced to the ground by a hand. Looking in the direction I see the hand is connected to a woman in a sand colored shirt and a black combat vest that Special Forces wear. She looks me in the eyes and puts a finger to her lips. And this might be weird, but her eyes look dead and filled with rage at the same time. Deep blue orbs surrounded by bloodshot eyes. She has blonde hair but before I can get a really good look at her she turns around and draws a knife with her left hand. A black ka-bar with the force recon insignia stamped into it. She presses herself against the wall next to a barely opened door and the room goes silent save for a distant rumbling noise.

After a few seconds I hear the clanking of equipment pass by the door. But a moment later I hear hushed talk in a different language as the door is shoved open and three men in various colored robes burst into the room. I'm not sure if it's because I'm sitting in the dark or because they are just farmers with rifles but they pushed forward into the room without seeing me or her. The mystery woman takes a hushed step forward and quickly reaches over and slams the knife into the man's chest and he lets out a quick yelp and the second man turns in time to see the women draw a .45 from her hip and quickly level it at the man before pulling the trigger as his head snaps back to the sound of a gunshot. The final man jumps from the room he was in to see what had happened as she fires two shots into his chest. I hear a sickening noise as she pulls the knife from the man's chest and his body falls to the ground. She holsters the pistol and slides away the knife as she turns and makes her way to me, holding out her hand to me.

I sit astonished for a moment before taking her hand and she pulls me to my feet and I collapse against the wall for stability. She looks in between me and the bodies behind her before clearing her throat. "You have horrible fucking timing, you know that?" She says it with dead seriousness. And it dawns on me that she was the one from the radio.

"Wha…Wha…What the fuck." I spit out to realize my throat is completely dry. She seems to notice this before pulling a canteen seemingly out of nowhere and tossing it to me. I catch it and take a swig. I look around the room once more and see that the puke colored room is a small apartment. "Where are we, and what the fuck happened?" She looks at me and chuckles.

"If only I had a nickel for every time I've heard that." She says before moving back a few steps and holding out here arms. "We, my sleepy little friend, are in the middle of a fucking civil war between the local douche-tator's army and his "loyal subjects." She finishes with sarcastic quotation mark. For the first time I get a good look at her and she's about 5'6'' with blonde hair pulled back into a pony that's about 6 inches too long to be within regulation. She's covered in dirt, cuts and small amounts of blood. She makes her way to the bodies, kneeling down next to one and grabbing one of the rifles off the ground before inspecting it.

"And who are you?" I ask. She just stands and stares at me for a moment.

"Cpl. Sam Puckett. 2nd Recon. And you?"

"PFC. Dom Martin. 25th marine regiment."

"Well, PFC Martin, to answer your other question, your humvee hit a small I.E.D on the main road. You got knocked the fuck out and while you were getting your beauty sleep that soviet piece of shit tank showed up and I had to drag your ass here after a building collapsed in between us and everyone else." She makes her way to a curtained window on the far wall and she pulls aside the blinds and in the early morning sky I see the flashes that accompany large battles. "Oh and those friends of yours that were smart enough to not get blown up called for reinforcements." She makes her way back to the middle of the room. "And way over there in all that is our extraction." I open my mouth to speak but she cuts me off. "It's about twenty minutes from here to there. Ten or fifteen if we haul ass. But first we need to regroup with Jon and them." Then I remember before the tank showed up. When Tanner heard her voice on the radio he reacted… weird. I can hear shouting on through the floor and walls. She spins her head towards the door. "I think it's time for us to go." She tosses me the rifle she was holding and moves towards the door and makes her way out.

I follow and find myself in a dim manila hallway with a staircase at one end and a large window at the other. A few moments go by as the shouting gets louder and louder. I look at Sam and she's pulling something out of her pack. It's a small black canister with a pin and she looks at me. "Stun grenade, when I throw this you run towards the window there."

"And do what? Jump out it?" She looks at me with a strangely evil smirk on her face.

"Figure that out all by yourself?" I begin to protest but I'm cut short by the wave of men in robes with AK's pouring out of the stair well. "RUN!" She yanks the pin but I don't wait see her throw it. I make my way down the hallway as fast as I can and I hear a dull thud behind me and the shouts turn to screams of pain. I close in on the window but before I get there a man emerges from a hidden corner, raising his rifle and I her two gunshots but they didn't come from him. Two pools of blood form on the stomach of his shirt as cracks form on the window behind him. I see Sam run past me, pistol in hand as she full force tackles the man, still staggering in front of the window. The window shatters and they disappear. The men behind me must be recovering because I hear more gunshots as I sprint to the window. It's a weird feeling when you're running on adrenaline and your body starts to inject more in to you bloodstream. It's almost as if time slows down. I arrive and blindly leap out the window on shear faith and I realize just how absurd this whole situation really is.

A moment of free fall passes and I smack into the ground. Pain shoots through me and I look up to where I jumped from and see that I was only on the second floor and looking down a check on my leg. Besides the fact that it's already turning a different color isn't good but I don't think it's broken. I feel someone pulling me to my feet and upon turning around I see its Sam as she puts my arm around her shoulder and we start to leave the area. "Ten foot fall. Dumbass."

**About twenty minutes later.**

So far we've been able to make it to the outskirts of the city despite my limp. We haven't really had much trouble besides stopping to hide from the militia or letting Sam take care of the guys blocking our path. And it might sound weird, but there's something off about her. I can't place it, but it's like there's something missing from her. Like she's only half a person. I know, it sounds weird. But then there's her sense. It's like she senses things before they happen. Not tell the future but she knows when things are about to happen. But I can't complain, because it's already saved my ass multiple times.

Sam sets me down next to a small building across from a small backstreet shop somewhere on the edge of town. And all we have to do is cross through enemy lines to reach the invading U.S. forces. Easy right? Sam heads off around the corner without a word. Like so many times before she just leaves, and I'm not exactly comfortable sitting on my own with a busted leg inside enemy lines in an overall hostile city.

I look at the sky in the distances and the sun is rising and it would be beautiful in different circumstance. Looking around the area I'm and it's a small dark marketplace. Complete with abandoned vendor stalls and small burnt out shops and a broken down apartment building at the end. But right there in the middle of the wall across from me is a small store. The windows and doors are smashed out and the sign above them is broken and bent. The inside is torn up, with rows of shelves knocked over and the register is missing. But what stands out is the white cardboard cutout in the window. It was of a man holding some sort of yellow liquid. Next to it there was writing but it wasn't English so it might as well of been ink splotches. It had fringed edges where fire had touched it but not caught hold. There were holes in the man's face were some people probably shot at it for fun.

I can hear footsteps from around the corner, heavy footsteps. More than one set actually, all too heavy to be Sam. I scoot closer to the wall to try and hide myself from whoever was coming. Seconds go by and then they come around the corner, weapons raised. Hiding didn't help because they spot me in moments.

"DOM! HOLY SHIT, YOU'RE ALIVE!" It was Jeff, followed by a larger man with darker skin and jet black hair. He had the same general outfit as Sam, but with more gear. And he still had his M4. Jeff makes his way to me, kneeling down next to me and checking my leg. "Dude, what did you do to your leg?" Behind him I see Sam and Tanner come around the corner. Talking quietly to one another. Before I can hear what they are saying the big man kneels next to me.

"You did that in just ten feet?" He says sarcastically. He has one of those deep voices that you hear an Indian use in a movie. He has small scars covering his face and arms. And he has big brown eyes that are starting to creep me out. Why do Recon all have creepy eyes? "My name is Jon. You can call me Tonto. Yes I'm serious."

"Dom." The Ability to speak is now all but lost to me. He looks at me for a moment before going back to my leg. "What?"

"Your name, it means you belong to God." He lowers my Pants leg and pats my shoulder as her stands. "And in times like this, God tends to take what's his." He says to me before walking to Sam and Tanner, who seem to be in an argument.

"What's with these Recon guys, bunch of paranoid freaks." Jeff mutters as he helps me to my feet. Then I notice something.

"Where's Parker?" I turn to Jeff and he lowers his head for a moment. "Just fucking gre-"

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DO IT!" I see Sam standing close to Tanner with her finger in his face. "YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DO. IT WAS MY FAULT; IT WAS MY RESPONIBILITY, NOT YOURS!" So it seems they do know each other.

"BULLSHIT, YOU WOULDN'T HAVE SAID ANYTHING. I SAID IT THEN AND I'LL SAY IT NOW. YOU. ARE. A FUCKING. COWARD!" A second goes by and Sam's got her hand cocked back and is ready to throw the punch but the big guy, Tonto, is there and has a hold of her arm.

"NOT THE TIME OR PLACE! LET'S GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE THEN YOU CAN FUCKING KILL EACH OTHER!" He shoves Sam to the side and gets in-between them. "I don't know what this is about, and I don't give a shit. I just want to go home." He finishes by walking off in the direction they came from. Followed by Sam and Tanner. Lastly are Jeff and I.

"Like I said, fucking Nut jobs."

We make our way through the city and the buildings become less clustered and more sporadic. The sounds of the battle become more and more intense. I can hear tank shells and other things exploding. Helicopters fly overheard, releasing rockets and cannon fire. The sound of automatic fire is more significant as we move forward. We come out of a small alleyway onto a small road leaving the city.

"There, past that shop," Tonto points to the right past the end of the city. There's just a few buildings spread out and beyond that is old road barriers and open fields. "Moderate cover, and there's enough room to signal the choppers."

"Hostiles?" Tanner points out. This part of the city does seem eerily deserted. And the last time that happened we lost a humvee.

"Looks clear. Most of the militia is in the southwest edge of the city, that's where most of the Fighting happens and that's where the battle is. And the loyalists stay in the heart of the city. Toward the embassies." Sam points out; her voice is flat, emotionless as are her eyes. Jeff keeps me balanced as we make our way out of the city to the maze of road barriers. We come to a stop about fifty yards past a three story high building with a small rusted out red coupe sitting outside. Jeff leans me against a barrier and I see Tanner popping a green flare as he tosses it towards the field and it releases a column of green smoke reaching in to the morning sky.

"Should only be a few minutes till the choppers get here. Look, you can see them now." Tanner points to the south and there are two black dots in the distance.

"Fuck yes, can't wait to get the fuck out of here." Jeff says laughing. I turn and look at him and notice that Sam is gone but my thoughts are cut short as a single shot rings out and Jeff jerks forward, blood and dust shoots from his chest as he falls to the ground.

I fall next to him, instinctively putting pressure on the wound. Looking up Tanner and Jon are behind barriers and glancing at the building I see a white flash duck back into the third story of the building. But then I see something else. At the doors on the bottom of the building I see Sam, sprinting in to the building. Turning my attention back to Jeff, blood is pouring out of his shoulder pooling on the ground under him. Looking back up at the building I see the white robe again but this time it's his back. Another shot rings out before, unexpectedly, he shoots backwards out the window. But as he falls I see Sam on top of him, holding something to his chest and after a moment they slam into the little rusted car, collapsing the roof. But above all that I see the helicopters, distinguishable now. Two Black Hawks, flying over the city as they close in.

I turn my attention back to Jeff and his breathing is very shallow and blood is starting to leak from his mouth. But before I know it automatic fire opens up next to me as well past the building. I can see men flooding the streets on the edge of the town. I can hear the choppers and people screaming, close and far.

I see a cloth being pushed on his chest and I see Sam next to me, her left arm is cut up and bloody and held to her stomach. "He doesn't look good. More pressure. DON'T LOOK AT ME, HELP HIM." I barely hear her over the choppers. Practically hovering above us. I see one land a few yards away and Sam is gone as two men in helmets rush up grabbing Jeff and pulling me away as the carry us to the chopper. They sit him on the bay floor, cutting open his shirt to get to the wound. They sit me in to a crew bench and I see the other chopper circling above, firing short burst at the enemies. I can see Sam waving us off before turning and firing her pistol at the wave of people. The chopper lifts off the ground and Sam turns and looks right at me. I see her mouth something at the chopper. Moments later we were in the air and I see the other chopper landing but soon all of my senses are overtaken by an explosion as alarms and lights spread through the chopper as it starts to spin. It picks up speed and the pilots are screaming and with each spin I see the buildings get closer and closer before there is a loud crash and I slam forward and everything goes black. But before it goes, I hear something. _You belong to God. And in times like this, God tends to take what's his._

**December 3****rd****, 2018. 0707 hours (7:07 am)**

**Outskirts of Farah, Afghanistan.**

**U.S.M.C 2nd reconnaissance bataillon.**

**Cpl. Samantha Puckett. M.O.S Designated Marksman**

**Status: Awaiting Evac.**

I hate this. I hate everything about this. But then again, I don't really have a choice. Because I'm not allowed to have happiness, because every choice I make leads me the wrong way. This whole situation sucks. I hate this. First two days of running away as everyone I know dies and know my past catches up to me. _You are a coward. _For seven years those words have rung through my brain. Dictating every move I make. And now I go through life afraid that I'll crack and something will show. Afraid that mental walls will crumble and everything will come flooding back. Everything from then. _Her._

I clear my head as Tanner pops a flare and tosses it to the field. Dom and his friend are leaning against a barrier. Jon is somewhere to the right, pacing waiting for the choppers. And I'm guessing he has the same feeling I have. That angry little twinge in the back of my head, telling me something is wrong. I look back towards the city and the three story building makes that little feeling jump. And I begin making my way to it. I hear Dom's friend shouting and in the top window of the building I see a white figure, then a flash and a gunshot. Quickly I turn and see Dom's friend collapses and everyone else falls into cover. My body takes over, little white rings filling my vision as I sprint into the building. Bounding up the stairs three at a time. Reaching the top floor there's a single door at the end of a short hallway. I slam through the door and it's as if time slows down as I see a man in a white robe holding an old svd rifle and suddenly I'm halfway across the room with my knife in my hand and a shot rings out. The shot grazes my left arm, sending pain through my body but I don't stop. Before he can fire another shot my knife is lodged in his chest and we are falling out the window. My vision flashes again and I'm on the ground next to a little rusted car with a collapsed roof. Shattered glass is all over the area.

Extreme amounts of pain are shooting through my arm and when I see it there are small bits of glass stuck in my arm. And just above my elbow is a massive gash where the round grazed me. And from the swelling and rapid discoloration I can clearly guess that it's broken. Ignoring the pain I make my way to the car. The roof is completely collapsed and inside is the shooter. My knife still lodged in his chest. I reach over yank it from his chest and sheathe it. I take two pieces off his robe, tying one around the gash on my arm. The rings flash again and I'm next to Dom, pushing the cloth to his friend's chest, yelling something at him. I see the chopper land behind him, crewmen jumping out and running to Dom and his friend. Loading them in to the chopper. I wave my good arm at the pilot, telling him to lift off. He nods and begins lifting the chopper. I turn and see Jon and Tanner by barricades, for the first time noticing the swarms of men firing on us. I quickly make my way to Jon firing my pistol as I go. Not really caring if I hit anything. The pistol clicks and I turn and see Dom's chopper, and I see his leg. The other chopper is firing burst out of the minigun as it lands.

"Ten foot fall. Dumbass." I say at no one and the chopper turns to leave but something slams into the tail rotor with a fiery bang and the chopper start to spin. "NO" It continues to spin, spewing flames, before slamming into a nearby building. It settles for a moment before the fuel ignites and explodes. Turning quickly I see Tanner and Jon are just as horrified as me. So much so that they don't notice the little green object land about seven feet behind. But I do and before I even think I'm at a full sprint. _You are a coward ._Bullshit. I feel myself leap and tackle someone over the barrier as the grenade explodes and I feel like I just jumped out of an airplane in to a bed of needles. Before I go out completely an image pops in my head. It's her. And she's smiling. I find some sort of comfort in knowing that last thing I see is Carly's smiling face. And it makes me realize just how much I miss here. And how of how bad of an idea this all was.

**A/N: 15! 15 straight hours to write this. So much pain and agony just to get this. 15 hours in wooden chairs. And it's all for you.**


	11. Forgotten Revelations

**A/N: If this is confusing to you, then good. Because it confuses me to. But I want it. I didn't till I started writing it. But it's done and I want it now. ****KEEP REVIEWING. And on that note, thank you dpp3530. I enjoy your work as well. I think iHide My Relationship is great. And I'll read The Other Puckett Sister when I get a chance. And bandgrad2008, love Fault. Can't wait for more. Still gotta read Solid though. And the army may not be as badass as the marines; they are the backbone of the U.S military. They are just as important. If not more. And thank you JZ65. That's real nice. And kinda creepy. But nice. Oh, one word to sum this chap up. Subconscious. **

**Forgotten Revelations**

I hate this place. I really do, this mental prison of mine. My own little slice of nothing. My own purgatory. It's just… nothing. Miles and miles of nothing before… before the memories. If I go too far, try to move too much, they come flooding back. Years of repressed memories. Things I don't want to remember. Things I've spent years trying to forget, but never could.

"_You show up in the middle of the night telling me you're leaving for good?"_ Why do I have to go through this? Why must I endure this? _"You're a coward."_ Life can be overpowering sometimes. When you look back and everything you've ever done. _"You can't do this. I need you." _Every choice you've made is just staring back at you. Every fuck up. Every mistake. And in here it's overwhelming. A sea of emotion and despair. Infinite white, dotted with flashing memories. Things I can't escape. So vivid, so fresh and real.

But that's not why I hate it here. I hate it here because every time one of these memories invades my mind. Every time I'm forced to relive those moments. A weird feeling fills me. Like a breeze is coming through my soul. And I can feel goose bumps riddle my skin. And when the memories leave me, everything is pale. Not the bright white, but pale. Sickly, deathly pale. And there's always something in the corner of my vision, skipping around. Dancing and toying with my sanity, slowly creeping closer as time moves on. And I know what it is. Because I caught it rearing its head once. And inside the darkened image, is nothing. Just malevolence. Hatred and anger. And yet, serenity. I welcome it. But it stops; it won't come closer than it has before.

But I can hear it. Whispering things. Quietly at first before becoming horrendous shrieks. Intolerable shrieks. And I welcome it. I want it to come closer; I want it to end this. But it won't. It just hides in the corner of my vision before skipping around when I look. And the shrieks die down, becoming those horrible whispers again.

"Why are you doing this to me?" it's helpless to ask, because what am I asking? The whispers pick up, distinguishable voices now. All hatred, all lost and hopeless.

"BECAUSE YOU CAN'T DECIDE!" it's one voice, quick and violently louder than the others.

"What do you mean?" The figure shifts and is in front of me. So close. A shiver of fear slides down my spine. It's so close, I can see now. It's more than nothing. A black hooded phantom. Physical but at the same time still nothing. And there's a black flash and I'm standing in a world of pitch black under a spotlight. And it's there, walking around me. But it's mainly just a blur. And when I try to focus, try to see what it really is, pain shoots through me. "What do you want from me?" I look directly at it and collapse to my knee in pain. But just as quickly as it's there, it's gone. Replaced by a hand and a voice. Wrapping its way over me… through me.

"I want you." The voice comes from different direction, as it were walking around me.

"NO!" The scream comes from me quickly, almost. On its own.

"But did you not just wish me closer? Did you not ask me to come end this… this gift given to you?" the voice is deep. But somehow hollow.

"GIFT, WHAT GIFT?" Looking up I can see it now. A ghastly figure, seeable but barely recognizable. Like black smoke that's taken the shape of a man. And it's coming closer. I see something coming out of it, a deathly white hand grabbing my chin. Tilting it upwards. But as I look at the figure my vision is blocked by the blinding light of the spotlight. Creating a silhouette.

"Revelation. Realization. Awakening. Redemption, perhaps. I know not. Nor am I aware of why you have been given such things. You have not earned them. You do not deserve them. You should not have them. And yet you do." The hand is gone. Replaced by… nothing. A sense of nothing.

"Who are you?" The voice laughs, a soul wrenching bellow.

"Not who, but what. To give me a title, to anchor me to reality with such things is impossible. No, no, no. I am more than that. I am everything, and yet I am nothing. I am loved by some, hated by more and feared by all. Some like you," the figure shifts away. "Say you do not fear me. And yet when I come for them," it turns and points a bony skeletal finger. "They beg and plea for their souls. Hide and whimper, praying to one that should make me leave. But I don't, I can't." I stand partially just to be slammed back to my knees by an unknown weight as the fire shoots towards me. "WHAT THEY DO NOT UNDERSTAND IS THAT THEIR GODS, THEIR PRECIOUS GODS ARE THE ONES WHO SENT ME!" The voice rips through me. The way a saw blade would rip into wood. "Oh Sisyphus. But you, you are different. I've waited for so long for your name to come up. So long have I waited. And when it did, oh the excitement I felt. Just to have my hopes crushed. You know all about that don't you. You're an expert on giving people that feeling. I'm just here to give you a message."

"WHAT ARE YOU?" I scream, partially from fear. But all I hear is the voice laughing. Echoing for what seems eternity.

"You know what I am. All you must do is accept it. But you have trouble accepting what you can't understand. Most do. Maybe… yes. Maybe if I took the form of something you truly fear, something you truly dread it might help." The weight is lifted and slowly I stand as my surroundings change once again. To a familiar setting. It's her room. And familiar scent spreads around me. Followed by light footsteps and… and Carly is in front of me, smiling that smile. Looking just like the night I left. But something's off. Her eyes are hollow, lifeless. "Is this better. Are you more… comfortable with appearance?" Her smile widens as she sits on the bed. She looks me up and down before laughing. But it's a dead laugh, not Carly's. "Now I have your attention."

"Change back."

"Oh Sam, I thought you loved me?"

"Change back!"

"Is it really love that you feel thou-"

"CHANGE BACK!" I scream. Her… its smile disappears, slipping away.

"Is it love, or is it obsession?" The smile returns. "When last I checked, you don't run from those you love."

"If you're not going to change back, then tell me what you have to say and leave."

"Oh Sammy. This is what I have to say. Don't you see it yet Sam? You're getting a second chance. No restrictions. A free pass if you will. And I was sent here to make sure you know not to waste it." She… It stands and begins pacing around me. "You don't love her, Sam. It's obsession at this point. You just need to let it go. It'll be healthy for you."

"JUST FUCKING GO AWAY!" Its face shifts, anger crossing the features before changing back to the phantom.

"Fine don't listen. I only want the best for your health. It's a shame you won't remember this." It chuckles before staring me straight at me. "Well, most of it any way. I leave with one warning." It comes close before shifting back to Carly and wrapping its arms around me. Its mouth comes close to my ear; I can feel its breath, cold and dead. "She will be the end of you." It shifts again, back to the figure, before floating away laughing that horrifying laugh.

"WAIT, WHO ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU? AND WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?" It doesn't stop or slow. Just continues.

"You know exactly what I am." And with that it vanishes completely. The light goes with it and my eyes close and snap open as pain shoots through my body and I'm not in the white anymore. It's been replaced with a manila colored ceiling and violent, erratic beeping as I kick and struggle as the pain gets worse and worse before people fill my vision. I can see one has a needle and the world goes black again.

**A/N: Yeah, weird right?**


	12. Fighting The Past

**A/N: blocky? Don't care. She's sleep deprived. Got PTSD and is feeling things for the first time in years. Wait you don't know that yet. Well now you do. And according to my insanely flawed math we should be back in a few chapters. Back as in the real world where all the "I love Carly" stuff will actually come in to play. And I'm thinking about a title change. If you have any ideas let me know.**

**Fighting The Past**

My eyes snap open and pain is shooting through my body. I try to sit up but I don't get more than a few inches before my arms collapse. I hear a steady, rhythmic beeping somewhere and light footsteps and hushed voices. Taking a deep breath a sharp pain fills the left side of my body. Pangs of disappointment fill me at the realization that I'm alive. Despite the pain I try to sit up again but I'm forced down as the bed is raised for me. I can see a nurses all rushing around, the moans and groans of wounded as they're rushed by on stretchers and the nurse the just helped me checks a few of the screen on the computer before turning and heading to the door.

"W-Whats going on?" I barely finish the sentence as pain spreads like wild fire through my chest and lungs. The nurse doesn't slow, just shouts something and keeps moving. My vision blurs in and out. But looking around I notice a small window, the bright afghan sun high in the sky over a somewhat familiar city. Smoke rising in the distance as gunfire and explosions rip through the air.

Time ticks by and the hospital slows and the influx of wounded slows as the gunfire halts to the occasional pop in the distance. The sun in the sky sets and rises. Nurses are in and out of my room, checking screens and putting drugs in my i.v. to dull the pain. But despite the sedatives I can't bring myself to sleep. I don't know what it is but I can't sleep. Whenever I get close my mind is flooded by everything that's happened to me. Everything I've done. Thoughts of Carly haunt me at times and others the mere thought of her just kills me inside. But there's always a little voice in the back of my head, quiet and barely audible. _She will be the end you. _I don't know why it's there but it doesn't go. Always there. And when I'm not being plagued by her, it's just unrecognizable screams. But I know some of them. I remember their voices. Flashes of how they looked before their deaths. Sounds, guttural screams as their lives were ripped from them and I was powerless to it, any of it.

This pattern continues for a couple of days. Doctors, in and out. One of them told me what happened. Made me remember. The chopper. The explosion. Jon and tanner. The grenade. How they brought me back here. How I was in surgery for six hours. Taking out shrapnel. Stitching up wounds. They told me that I was dead for three minutes and twelve seconds. And that I woke up during. And how I was out for two weeks after. How close I was to death. And that I should be thankful to be alive. But I'm not. Because I'm not truly alive. I haven't been for a long time. I'm just a mass of tortured memories. Day in and day out.

One of the doctors told me I had acute stress disorder. He came in, all quiet and peaceful. Asked me about my childhood. So I told him to go away. But he stayed. Reciting things from my military file. I told him to stop, asked not to bring those things up. Despite the fact that they never left. He pressed and pressed. Told me things even though I wasn't listening. I don't care. Because it doesn't matter. But he kept talking. Asking how I felt about Jon, reading in my file the things I'd done to make sure he'd stay alive. The bullets I took for him. He asked me why, I told him I don't know. Mumbled something about family and friends. And not knowing that I hadn't been told, he asked me how I felt about his death. I snapped and told to fuck off. Tired to move, to get closer. I tried to hurt him. Just to stress my wounds. He left. Leaving pills behind. Big words on small labels. Once he was gone, for the first time in years, I let out a tear. And for the first time in days. I slept. It wasn't peaceful though. Flashes of sound and images curse my dreams. Day in and day out.

My eyes open and it's not from peaceful rest. But rather horrific nightmares. I sit up, ignoring the pain. It doesn't bother me anymore. For day's I've been living in a daze. Reliving things I wish didn't happen. More explosions ring outside the window and as time goes by they die down. But the daze ends when I see a soldier. Helmetless and covered in dirt. Dried blood caked on to his neck. He's sitting outside my room on one of the temporary bunks. A nurse washing off blood and dirt. He stands and stops the nurse. I see them chatting for a moment before she points to my room. He turns and I see his face, finding some solace as he walks over. He gets to the edge of me room. Standing in the doorway. He just looks at me for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. He doesn't say anything though. Just pulls up a chair and sits next to the bed. We don't talk. Just sit for what feels like hours. He looks at one of the unopened pill bottles for a moment before grabbing both and handing me some.

"Take'em. They'll help." For the first time I notice just how exhausted he looks as I swallow the pills. Find myself relaxed at his presence. "Get some sleep. We'll talk when you wake up. There are some things you need to hear." I just nod and lay down as he walks away. And for the first time in a week, I sleep without hearing the screams.


	13. Surprise Visit

**A/N: Okay, so I finally got this written. This is probably the sixth or seventh version of this. And the version you are reading is not what I had in mind at all, but I like it more. So off we go. And remember. Please review, and a "Bonus" to whoever guesses who it is. And once you read it, you really should only have two choices, but I promise you, it's the dramatic one that's less dramatic than the one that is very dramatic, but is still dramatic and will involve the drama vibe of the other one soon. Maybe.**

**Surprise Visit.**

I open my eyes; muted images of the nightmares still cloud my thoughts. I got about three hours before they came again. Better than nothing. Rolling onto my back I can feel the pain surge again, causing me to wince. It's then I notice the two men at the far end of the room. One is in a small chair, sitting rigid holding a small case in his hands. He's a larger man, wearing the olive green uniforms of the marine officers. The other is a tall man standing towards the window with his back facing me, wearing an air force blue uniform. I sit up, curious to the presence of an air force officer in my room. The marine officer stands, crisp and formal, before making his way to my bedside.

"Ah, Cpl. Puckett. You're awake. I am MajGeneral Webber; I'm here on behalf of the United States Marine Corps Special Operations Command. As well as the rest of the U.S.M.C." In short he's here for all the people I take orders from. I give a half salute, more of a wave, as my eyes switch in-between the small box in his hands and the man by the window, still with his back towards me. "On behalf of the president, as well as our great nation, I award with these medals. For acts of exceptional bravery, heroism and selfishness over the years of your exceptional service life." He opens the small case, inside are a few ribbons and medals. Among them a purple heart as well as a bronze star. Anyone watching this scene with more than two brain cells would know I should feel honored. But I don't, closer to… unsettled. Unsettled at the officers eyes, at the unneeded presence of an air force officer, at the lack of a formal crowd, lack of a standard ceremony, but what bothers me most is the look in his eyes. It's not of pride or anything of the kind, but rather that this whole thing is a formality and there is something else happening, and it won't be good. "Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, we can get to the important things." He makes his way across the room, closing the door to my room.

"Now I'm sure that by your own intelligence you have figured out that you will be discharged for your wounds." A small string of reality snaps somewhere inside me. I've known this was coming, for a long time now. I've always tried to keep myself ready for when this… this other life was going to end. But hearing those words, knowing that I have to try again, or go back to what's left, it makes me feel sick. I hold down the surge to vomit, grinding my teeth for whatever reason. "And as much as it pains me lose a good marine. A decent and honest to god soldier." My stomach is doing flips, and I'm nervous. Like I'm back in school and a teacher is giving me a speech about how they believe that I'm better than I make myself out to be. And I have that feeling I get when I accept that I'm none of the things they think I am. "But that's not why I am here; I am here to discuss the events of an assignment. An assignment that, by law, never occurred, one that you took part in." He walks around the end of the bed, towards the window, leaving me to wonder if the air force man actually exists. And Webber must sense my confusion because he turns quickly and speaks in a harsh tone. "Listen, we need to make things clear. For starters, you were never wounded in a mission in Farah. And according to paperwork sent to the United Nations, your section was never deployed to western Afghanistan. An-" The officer by the window speaks, proving his existence, as well as helping me ground to reality. But uncertainty fills me as an overwhelming feeling that I know him fills me.

"I think I can handle it from here Webber, Sir." His voice is hesitant, but sturdy.

"Oh? And why is that _Flyboy?_" Obvious tension fills the room as the MajGenaral steps across the room. 

"I feel that a familiar face may help her get things straight, _Sir_." He turns for the first time and I was right, I do know him. I know his face, I know his voice, and I know his stance, even if just through a few awkward meetings. I know him. And all reality leaves me, I feel torn from the world as memories flood me. Not necessarily of him but more of who I know him through. And that sickly feeling from earlier is back, and ten times worse as my palms start to sweat and I have to take deep breathes to keep calm. I feel myself get woozy. He takes a few steps forward and meets Webber face to face. A tense moment passes before the MajGeneral turns and sees me, noticing how sickly I must look. He lets out a small chuckle before turning and heading for the door.

"If you feel it'll help, then you can handle it. And be quick, we have war to fight." And with that the door shuts with a click and I'm left alone with him.

"Hello Sam, it's been quite some time, and I feel the need to catch up." He steps to the foot of my bed. "And I feel that you're wondering what I'm doing here. You do remember me, don't you?" The woozy feeling from before becomes overwhelming and the world stats to blur.

"O-of c-course I do. Col-col-colon." I never finish the sentence. The world turns black before I do.

**A/N: At least make a guess. Pop a review and let me know.**


	14. If Only it Were so Easy

**A/N: So this wasn't fun to write. Lots of other things to do. But it still got done.**

**If Only it Were so Easy.**

I blink a few times, holding my knees to my chest, just staring at him, silently picking threads out of my bandages as I try to suppress the nausea building in me. We spend what feels like hours as he explains the situation to. I try to listen but become repeatedly distracted while he continues to flip through a manila folder with _Puckett, Sam J._ printed boldly on the side. Anxiety washes through me as strings of reality slowly snap around me. He continues to talk but I can see in his eyes that he's distracted. He rambles on as I sit with my head in my hands, shaking slightly before I snap.

"STOP! I-I don't understand. This doesn't, none of this makes sense." He lets out a soft chuckle before closing the folder and dropping it with a soft thump on the table next to him. He sighs.

"It does if you think. Which you don't seem to do." He stands, slowly. "Just, just stop for a moment and instead of denying this because you don't like it, try thinking it over." I sit, running my hands through my hair. Trying to wrap my brain around what he's telling me. I know what he's saying. I just don't want to believe it.

"So, what you want me to accept is that for the last six years, the U.S government has been sending me, as well as everyone I know, practically to our deaths, on missions that aren't sanctioned by the rest of the world?" He lowers his head slightly, about to speak when I stop him. "But that's not what I'm confused about, what I want to know is why. Why send twenty marines on a black op?" He looks at me, sadder than anything.

"Can you walk?" I look at him, confused, as he walks over and helps me to my feet. I stumble at first but I get the hang of it. Being stuck in a bed for three weeks can do that to someone.

It was a short walk, to the roof of the hospital, and yet it was the longest walk of my life. Walking next to the father of the only thing I've ever loved, even worse is that he's always had a certain… disliking of me. Would you want a degenerate kid hanging around with your daughter? Probably doesn't help that I left with almost no warning, and that I've never bothered to tell them that I was okay. I should have at least written her or something.

After a few minutes we get to the roof, he leads me to the edge, giving me a pretty good view of the area. To left are the barracks, my home for the last few years. To the right, out in the distance, is the air force base. Screaming jets lift from the runway, the sound a small comfort. And straight ahead are practice grounds, men and women from all branches of the military, practicing and running drills. I know the course like the back of my hand; you have to if you want to set records.

"You asked why it was you, and why not the SEAL's or some other spec ops group like that. But I feel like you already know." He's right. I do. It's simple really. Why spend a bunch of money on Special Forces when you can just send the marines. Cheap and effective, that's all we are. And Recon, well we're the cheap end of the Special Forces pool. It's a sad revelation, but one I should never have forgotten.

"Yeah, I do. Why should you have to waste money on advanced gear when it's cheaper and easier to send twenty men to their deaths and accomplish the same thing for half the cost." I chuckle and close my eyes; sighing deeply as conflicting emotions run rampant through me. I open my eyes, leaning on the ledge and looking down. It's a short drop, just a few stories. It would do the trick though. Easily. Fast and simple. And if it's done right, relatively painless. I lean back, clearing the thoughts. All just thoughts. His hand clamps on my shoulder.

"It's not like that, there wasn't supposed to be a civil war going on. It was going to be a simple mission. Go in, look around and get out. Fast and clean."

"But why tell me?"

"Because, you've earned the truth. I can't imagine what it feels like to have so many of your friends to die around you. I'm sor-"

"Don't bother, it's not the first time I've lost my friends, and it probably won't be the last time either." My teeth clench and my fingers dig in to the concrete. His eyes are filled with apologies, but there's something under that. Rage fills me as I tear up. "And what are you sorry for, huh? It's not your fault, right? But that's what they do; send someone with clean hands to bury the lies under the dirt. Spill the blood of good men and it goes from a secret to a tragedy in the eyes of the people. Just a few more life's lost to the war effort. Just a few more people lost for _peace and stability in the region._" The words are closed by erratic laughter, strange and unexpected. Maybe I am losing my mind. I turn and face him, that strange anger back tenfold, stopped only by his eyes, so close to hers.

"I'm not stupid. I'm many things. I'm sorry that I left like I did, I'm sorry if Carly had a hard time adjusting. I'm many things, Steven, but stupid isn't one of them." His jaw clenches at my words and I can see anger spreading through his features. "You've answered all of my questions but one. Why are you here? I know it's not because you want to be, no. No, you hate me too much for that. So tell me, why are you here?" it's a strange feeling, losing reality, and right now it's like being stuck in the cockpit of a jet as it plummets towards the earth. You can't do anything but watch and hope you make it out. All the sorrow is gone from his eyes, replaced by what was hiding underneath.

"You're right, I don't like you, and I don't think I ever will. And I don't want to be here, I'd rather be at the bottom of the ocean than here next to you. I'm only here because I was asked to come here."

"You Shay's, always so compassionate, It doesn't suit you. Carly, yes. You, not so much." saying her name gets harder every time. "So who is it, who would want you to come all the way out here to check up on me?" he doesn't respond at first, he just pulls a small slip of paper out of his pocket, forcing it in to my hand. He takes a few steps back before turning and heading to the door.

"Your flight is leaving tomorrow. They'll be willing to help, as long as you don't mess up again." The shuts and he's gone. I stand for a few more minutes before sitting up against the concrete barrier looking up at the sky. I raise the little piece of paper, a number is written on it. There are only two people this can be, neither of them good.

"Can't ever be simple." For some reason I laugh when it begins to really sink in. "If only, if only."


	15. Remembrances

**A/N: You may not have noticed this yet, but my idea of Sam is… well, mentally unstable. This is evident in this story, and in "iCR!" Seriously, go read it and pay attention to this. Don't get me wrong, she isn't losing her mind, she still has all the right pieces, it's just that some are broken. And let's just say that some of the others are more closely related to scrap than fully functioning. Oh and uh, I'm going to contradict most of what I just said. Not the unstable thing, that stays, but the other stuff. And utilities are what they wear under all the combat equipment, and for everything else. REVIEW**

**Remembrances**

I've been sitting on the roof of the hospital for awhile now. Sitting in silence, trying to piece everything together right. It feels like my life is a house of cards, happiness somewhere at the top and everything else is at the bottom, where I'm at. And the whole thing is shaky to begin with and I have to climb to the top to find what I want. But one wrong move sends the whole thing tumbling down and I have to spend years trying to build it again. There's some primal drive to reach the top, see what's there and take it, but I know what's there. It's all I've ever wanted, but I can't have it. I want it so bad, but it's something I've never even tried for, something I ran from, something I don't deserve.

I rap my arms around myself, trying to stave off the cold December air. Years ago when I first came here I thought it was going to be a hundred degrees every day and dry as a bone, so it was a bit of a shock when I found out it only gets up to ninety in the summer and forty-five in the winter. Sitting in forty-something degrees isn't exactly nice, but I don't care, it reminds me of Seattle. As much as I try to avoid thinking of it, I can't help but feel a little warm and fuzzy when I do. As painful as it was for me, I still have a lot of good memories there, but almost all of them are connected to painful ones. All most all of them are with the thing I want. No, not a thing. It's who they're connected to, it's who I want. It's who I can't have.

I'd say that it's peaceful, the quiet, but I'd be lying. The quiet doesn't suit the city. It's known war and occupation for a long time. I don't know a lot about it, but I know that this place is a hot bed for fighting. It was birthed in fighting and it's known nothing but fighting. Throughout the centuries many empires have fought for it, spilled blood for it. Even in modern times it's the birth place of the Taliban, and a breeding ground for insurgent activity. It's one of those places that will leave you to wonder, "What are we doing here?" No, the quiet doesn't suit this place. The torn skyline, the small pillars of smoke that never seem to stop, no it's not peaceful. It just means that the fighting stopped for now, and it'll start up again in a few hours. No, not quiet, dead.

I stare at the sun, slowly turning the sky to a glowing orange as it sets. I really have been up here for a long time now, a few nurses came and tried to take me back down but I told them to leave me alone, and surprisingly they did. Although they do come up here constantly, nagging about my health as they bring me food and blankets and, strangely, clothes. It was just some simple utilities that were lying around, but they beat hospital gowns. Pulling one of the blankets around me I shiver a bit, the cold making everything hurt. I stand; looking over the edge again I struggle to stop the thoughts of jumping. I don't know why they're there in the first place. Maybe because it would be easy, it would save me a lot of pain and suffering. I never understood the point of suicide, for a long time I just thought it was for people who were too stupid to go through life. But I get it now. It's what you do when things become so unbearable you can't see a way out. I feel that way now, with everything that's been happening. My thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, tanner walking out holding a bag in his hand and a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Since when did you smoke?" He just makes his way over, a dry smile crossing his lips as he inhales before blowing smoke in my face.

"Since when did you stare at sunsets in contemplation? Oh wait, you don't." He starts digging around in his bag. I stare at him and I can feel an eyebrow rise in sarcasm.

"Good point, give" Before I even finish he pulls one out of the bag and gives it to me, lighting it as well. He just stares at me for a moment or two.

"That's a disgusting habit, you really shouldn't smoke." I take a drag and blow the smoke at him. A natural instinct from my childhood rises up and takes hold.

"Give it to me, now." He chuckles, pulling out a plastic baggie full of jerky and handing it to me. It's only a moment before the bag is open and I'm biting into a piece, savoring it. Past experience tells me that it's homemade. He digs around in the bag some more, finally pulling out two long neck beers. He hands one to me, placing the cap of his bottle in the inside of his elbow before flexing and with a quick twist the cap pops off. I chuckle, popping mine off on the concrete, saving me time and effort. I take a sip; it's cold and bitter on my tongue. We both stand silently for awhile, watching as the sun slowly sets in the distance. Once again the silence bothers me. There's a small wrinkling noise as he digs through the bag again. "What else you got in that wond-" He pulls out a pill battle and hands it to me "bag of horribly unneeded items."

"Doctor's orders, you have to take them." He states matter-of-factly. I take the bottle and take two pills. I swallow them quickly as they leave a strange taste in my mouth.

"And what does the doctor know?"

"Don't trust doctors?"

"Long story."

"Ain't got nowhere to be." A small accent creeps into his voice, roughly southern, causing me to look at him. But he's not being funny, just staring out at the horizon. I remember him doing that accent in boot camp all the time. I just thought he was trying to be funny, but it never occurred to me that might not be forced.

"Where are you from?" I feel angry at myself for not knowing this, but we were only friends for a few weeks, and we never hit on personal stuff. He turns to me.

"Southwest Ohio, 'bout forty-five minutes from Cincinnati. My dad's side is from Kentucky, that's why I have the random accent." It never occurred to me that maybe it was natural, not a joke. "So, about that story?"

"It was a long time ago. And it involves a dentist, my best friend, attempted murder, my first kiss convicts and a giant pair of pants." He looks at me and just laughs. I don't know why I said it. It just slipped out. I still remember that day; it was before I realized I loved Carly. It feels like a whole lifetime ago. I snap from my train of thought.

"I'm guessing it also involves you telling everybody about not having a first kiss and losing your teeth." There's a strange smile on his face. "Two kids, remember? Whose kids didn't watch iCarly?" I remember that now. I don't want to remember then, why he told me that, and what he said along with it. And looking back it's almost possible to think that he hates me. Roger Hudsen. That was his name. The man I practically killed for no reason. I remember bits of the fight now. All he did was ask me if I was alright after I punched the phone, and I just beat him down for nothing.

"You're thinking. Stop doing that." He's dead serious. "Bad things happen when you think." As soon as he finishes a few explosions occur on the far side of the city, only to help his case. "Well, that was a little creepy." I nod, curious to the origins of the explosions. It grows silent again, taking another sip of my beer I stare at the bottle, running my thumb over the label. "He's fine, by the way. Hudsen. He was in the hospital for awhile, but he's fine. Lives in New York with his wife and son."

"I-I don't... how did everything happen?"

"After I took the blame they took me to his bedside and asked if I was the one that did it. He said no and that even if they did find the one who did it, he didn't want to press charges." This catches me off guard; leaving me curios as to if he's telling the truth or just trying to make me feel better. "I'm not lying. He knows you were the one who did it."

"Then why did-"

"Because you gave him a second chance." He takes a long drink and continues. "Roger never wanted to be a Marine. His father pushed him into it, but his father's approval meant a lot to him, blah blah blah, you beating him up gave him a chance to get out and start a new life. One that he's happy with." He turns to me and I can feel the confusion coming from me. "Everybody needs a pen pal." I laugh; I never thought I would find out what had happened to him. "Sam, he asked me to thank you If I ever saw you again." I turn around and lean against the wall, dropping the butt of my cigarette. Soreness runs rampant through my side from the cold.

"How do you always know what I'm thinking? Am I just that easy to read?" I slosh what's left on the inside of my bottle before drinking the rest.

"Wife, two sisters and a teenage daughter. After awhile you just sorta know." It can be easy to forget his age. He's not old, but he's at the point where he isn't young. He's in that mid-ground where your whole life can fall apart. It takes me a minute to realize but he's handing something to me, a picture. It's of a woman, with average features holding to kids. A girl with jet black hair and a boy with a dark shade of blonde and a cocky smile. "My family. My whole world." I don't know why it occurred to me, but my only friend in the world is a man whose ten years older than me and not really my friend.

"Why are you doing this?" I just sort of slipped out, the little filter in-between my brain and my mouth is broken again. "Why are you helping me? Why shoe me this?"

"Because, you should never forget what you're fighting for." I hand the photo back to him, placing my head in my hands. _What you're fighting for._ Images of Carly immediately fill my mind. It's a bitter moment. Emotional restrains I took years building are deteriorating and I can't keep anything in check anymore. "I've asked you this before, and I'm going to ask you one more time. What are you doing here?" I just stare at him; a strange sensation builds in me when suddenly I snap. Not violently, but emotionally. I can feel the urge to tell him. And for the first time, I give in.


	16. For the First Time

**A/N: So I don't like this. I wrote this a bunch of times and it sucked every time so this is what we get. Anyone who doesn't know, I'm trying to revise the story and I have big changes for the cataclysm chapters. Same end results though, so don't worry. I thank all of the people that read these stories, new and old. Oh, and thank you "lazy ass" for reading my work and liking it. That helps a lot. And I did not correct this at all. So if there's a bunch of mistakes let me know.**

"**For the First Time"**

I try to tell him. I've been trying but even despite the urge I can't find the right words. So we stand in silence, the wind blowing small clouds of sand everywhere and the world continues to move. Trucks move to and from the base, carrying supplies and soldiers. Jets and helicopters take off from the runway in the distance to aid in the battles all around the city. Everything is moving. But very little is truly alive.

"How many?" he throws it out offhandedly. I stay quiet. My body going cold, not from the air but the question. I know exactly what he's asking. It's a number every soldier knows. A little counter in the back of your head that always gets higher. "How many do you remember?" I don't answer. I don't think I can. I can feel my mouth lock in place. "If you don't want to tell me want I want to know then we shall touch on something equally uncomfortable."

"It's not something I'm proud of."

"You shouldn't be. It's not something you should like."

"I don't know an exact number. I don't keep track." He smiles. But it's a sad smile, the kind I expect.

"You do. You know the exact number. You remember every single one. We all do. That look in your eye says you do." I don't notice till now but my hands are balled into fist and are shaking violently. It's a struggle unclench them.

"Why does it matter? Why would it matter, huh? So what if I remember. So what if I know the exact number of people I've killed. If I see them in my dreams, hear them scream when I sleep. Why does it matter?" my whole body is shaking violently. It's been a very long time since I've let myself feel… anything. It figures the first thing I would feel is pain.

"What matters is that you're what, twenty-six? Been on active duty for maybe three years and you have more black bars in your record than fucking S.E.A.L's do. It doesn't matter that you've killed, or how many or why. What matters is how good you are at it. You may not love violence but it's something you feel safe with. You may not love it, but you sure as hell don't hate it. And that doesn't come from training; it comes from who you are deep down. So tell me. Why are you here, why are you so comfortable with violence?" we sit for a few minutes in quiet. His face still blank. I wrap the blanket around myself and begin to speak.

"It started when I was a little kid… my mom was always mean to me. Blamed me for my dad leaving, saying if I wasn't born he'd still be around. It was all bullshit. Just things to make her feel better about herself. He didn't leave because of me. He left 'cause she was a violent drunk. When he left things got worse and worse. She went from yelling to hitting like that," I pause and snap my fingers. "Day and night. Over and over again. Looking back I'm amazed I survived at all. No food and constant abuse. But I felt bad for her. Even at that age I knew how pathetic she was." I stop and shiver when a gust of wind blows across the roof. "When I was eight she went from smacking actual physical abuse. Hitting me in places here people wouldn't see. And it made me tough. All the pain taught me to ignore it. And I didn't really have feelings so I became dead inside. Day after day until I found an escape, something that made me feel good. Something I could do by myself, alone, away from the world."

"Crime." I look at him, his eyes are almost empty. "It's usually crime or violence it those situations. Break the law and go against society. It makes the child feel like they have power. It's a confidence boost." He stops and I continue to look at him. "It makes you feel like no one can tell you what to do."

"I started small. Shoplifting and pickpocketing. But as I got older it got worse. I would beat people up for no reason. Get in fights just because I could. One time I even assaulted some ambassador guy with a chilidog." I let out a small laugh. It's something I haven't thought about in a long time. I then just shake my head remembering how I met Carly. It was so long ago but it's something I will always remember. "I met her because I tried to steal her sandwich."

"What?"

"Carly. The reason all of this happened. I met her when I tried to steal her sandwich." I feel his hand on my shoulder, as he takes a deep breath.

"See, we are making progress. All of this mom talk actually helps." He laughs and I laugh with him, even if I don't know why. "She was right. Therapy can help. Son of a bitch." I raise an eyebrow. "Lots of therapy as a kid. I really liked fire, and I really hated people."

"But you seem so stable." I say sarcastically, looking up to him.

"Ha. That's funny, you're funny." We stare at each other for a moment before laughing together. "So… what happened next? What brought you here?"

"I… it's hard to explain." That's not true. I know it's not. But I can't bring myself to say it.

"Give it a shot." There's something his eyes, like a little feeling that says it's okay. I look out at the city, eyes drawn to the fires lighting the night.

"I… Carly was my best friend for a s long as I'd like to remember. She was the only one I felt actually cared for me. The only one that would cry for me. She was always there when I needed her. She was constant. If I felt sad or scared she keep me safe, and if I got mad or lost it, she was the one that kept me from doing something I would regret. i… loved her. I still do. It takes everything I have not to see her face when I close my eyes." I realize something and let out a small laugh. "That's the first time I've ever said that out loud. When my mom died it shocked my world enough for me to realize how I felt. And then everything just sort of hit the fan. I wouldn't talk to her. I'd avoid her. I was afraid. Truly afraid of what would happen if I told her how I felt. I just couldn't shake the feeling that she would hate me. So I left." I look back to him, but he isn't even looking at me. I don't even know if he heard anything I said.

"Coward." One word. That's all he needs to show how he feels. Hat one word is enough to destroy me. He looks to me, his eyes blank. "I've seen your file same, at least the readable parts, so I know what you've done. How many time you've risked your life for another. All the reckless things you would do to save someone even if they hate you."

"So even after everything I've done I'm still a coward? All those time I've stuck my neck out."

"No, that makes you a good person. You are a coward for the things you did before the Corps. You had it good. you're a coward because you ran from the people that care for you. You ran from the people that make you happy. The people that matter. That's what makes you a coward, Sam. Only cowards run from the things that make them happy. Just think about it. If Carly cared the way you say she did, would she hate you if you told her? You know just as well as I do, she would do anything to make you happy. You shouldn't run from that. You did more damage than good by leaving." He looks at his hands before handing something to me. "And I believe there's more than one person willing to give you a second chance." It's the same small piece of paper given to me earlier. Still crumpled into a ball. I try to respond but he begins to walk away. He almost to the door when he stops and turns. "Why me?"

"What?"

"Why did you save me? Why did you save someone you barley know instead of your friend. Why did you let John die to save me?" I don't answer. I don't know why. My mouth hangs open and I can't speak.

"I…I don't know." I really don't. But in that moment something made me do it.

"Good answer." He looks in his hand before tossing something to me. "He would probably want you to have those." I look at my hand, clenched around the object he tossed. I open my hand and see john's dog tags. I feel myself shake as I look back to him, but he's gone. I wait a few moments for him to come back through the door. But he's gone.

"Bye, Charles."

"See you in hell Snuggles." Is all I hear from the stairwell as the door closes. I continue to stare at the tags, chipped and scorched.

"Hello?" I look to see a nurse, rubbing her arms while she stands in the door way. "It's time to change your bandages again."

"Yeah." I look to my hands, closing them around the items. "Yeah, I'll be in in a second." She steps back inside. There's a distant roar as a large jet passes overhead. It's a soothing sound. I look around the roof and shiver. "It's fucking cold." I mumble before making my way to the door.


	17. An Old Voice

**A/N: So really dodgy writing in the later part. And the middle part. And the beginning. Don't have a lot of time for this right now. So don't expect super good awesome writing from me. So it's this or you guys wait another month. Yeah. I'll get around to fixing this eventually. But I's like to get up another chapter of OSQ first. Because it is "Fucking Boss" (Not my words, but I thank you for using them.) and to all the other people who are now reading this and liking this. thank you. And I try to get more of this out faster. I don't want anyone to Die. (Exhausted**, **delayed double eye wink.) so tired. So little time. So little Family. (crappy hint for next time). And as always, if it is really shitty quality just tell me. I'll make it better.**

"**An Old Voice"**

The lights in the small bathroom dim and flicker as the building rumbles from an explosion not close enough to damage it but just close enough to have an effect. A distant rumble. Nurses and technicians run back and forth making sure everything is working and everyone is alive. In the dead of night most of the sound in the building is made up of coughs and groans and the faint beeps of monitors. And at that odd moment everything else seems to stop I can hear the breathing machines of the worse off. Hillary, the young nurse redoing my bandages, is caught off guard by the rumble and shake, losing track of her current task and staring out the door to the window in my room with wide eyes. Worried and fearful of an impending attack.

"Ordinance disposal." I mumble to get her attention. She hasn't been here long enough to adjust to life we live here, at risk even in the safest of times. "We blow it up so they can't." she nods and continues to wrap the seemingly endless amount of bandages around me.

"Big one though." She mutters nervously. Cutting off the wrap for my stomach and grabbing another for my arm.

"Yeah, but it's nothing to worry about. All it means is they're starting to blow their budget on a few big ones instead of a bunch of small ones." I say with a sarcastic tone, an attempt to calm her. And it seemed to work as she begins to smile and work quicker. "We almost done?" she cuts off the end on the bandage and tapes it down. Lightly pressing to make it hold, causing me to wince.

"Sorry." She yelps worriedly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I'm fine. Just a little sore." I do my best to hide the pain but even after all this time it hurts more than I imagined. But she calms and continues checking the bandages. "How much longer do I have to wear these?"

"Two or three more changes back stateside and you should be okay." I grumble a few times and she steps back. "Look on the bright side, you make a cool mummy." I simply look at her, a smile on her face as she steps out of the bathroom. I look in the mirror and understand, from my left side I do look a bit like a mummy. I feel a smile spread across my face as I slip my shirt back on, a simple task that took me a full minute. But before I step outside I hear a voice. One I don't really want to hear. Asking Hillary to leave. It takes a moment but I step out of the bathroom and into the dim bedroom. People still scurry around on the other side of the glass wall, simply silhouettes through the curtain. The room is dark, but I spot him instantly, standing quietly in the corner, his face as blank as always. I ignore him at first, stepping to the bed, attracted by the large olive duffel bag with my name printed in big black letters on the side and a familiar black and gold handle sticking out of the top.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to collect your items so I took the liberty." He steps into the light, partially at least. Revealing his face, but all I see are the cold green eyes. I'm sure somewhere under it all is the tan of his uniform. Pressed and clean. But maybe not. Maybe he isn't here at all. Maybe I'm hallucinating again from the meds or maybe the doctor was right and I am fucking crazy. I don't think it matters at this point.

"Thanks. Now get out." I bark quickly. But he doesn't move or speak. He just continues to stare at me. "Is there something you need or are you just waiting for me to beat you down?" I say harshly. What little respect I had for the man has left me and he no longer can pull rank. He isn't my Captain anymore. So I don't need to watch myself. Not that I would anyway.

"I am your-"

"No, you aren't. I was discharged. I guess you haven't heard. Or you don't care."

"I had heard, obviously. But once a Marine always a Marine." He says quietly. And I step around the bed, coming face to face with him. Restraining myself from hurting him, or at least trying. Something tells me in my current state he'd drop me before I did anything.

"Only at heart. And I don't have one. So don't give me that bullshit."

"I understand if you hate me." He says quietly. Body tensing like he's expecting a punch to the jaw.

"I more than hate you. There are no words for how I feel. It's your fault they're dead. It was your shitty pride. You gave the fucking order. My friends, my team is dead because of you." I've never been good at controlling my temper, especially at a time like this. And I'm sure somewhere in the back of my head is a little voice saying this is good for me. Like I need this off my chest, but that's a croc of shit.

"I'm not here to argue with you."

"Then why are you here?" I all but yell at him, my voice echoing down the hall.

"To say that you're right." He doesn't say anything else. Just looks to me, eyes filled with a quiet sorrow. This is the most emotion I've ever seen him show. But it's only there for a second before he hardens again. "It is my fault. I volunteered us for the mission. I gave the order to hit Noor, to take him down. I thought if we got him we'd be heroes. Keep things from getting worse. That I'd be remembered." His shoulders slump and for the first time I see it. The golden leaf, new and shining like a midday sun in my eyes.

"And you got your promotion; got that shiny leaf you've wanted for so long. Well, was it worth it _Major?_" he looks away, out the window to the night sky for a moment before looking back to me.

"No. nothing is worth the life of a comrade. I understand that I was in the wrong. Blinded by glory and fame. But it doesn't matter now. John. Kirk and Bruce. They'd still be here if I wasn't so blind. I should've listened." She shakes his head a few times. "I still hear them sometimes. Whenever it's quiet. I know you do too, because they were your friends." Years of training and a long time in battle. Head buried in the sand and choking on the heat. Ears filled with the sound of gunshots or a stillness so empty the blood rushing through my ears is deafening on its own. It's all I can think when I hear their names. Not their faces or their voices. Just moments. So loud and real. No, not my friends. My family.

"What do you want?" I ask again. The rage is gone. The hate I felt was for a different man. Not the broken one before me. No, not him. My voice is little more than a whisper but I might as well be screaming murder. He sighs and looks me straight on.

"I'm resigning. I'm not fit for this. I never was. That's clear to me now. I'm not brave enough to be responsible for the things I've done. So I quit." He laughs quietly after he finishes the last word. "But there's one last thing. Something that needs to be said. You, Sam. You are… the worst soldier I've ever come across." His eyes can't go over me and all I can do is scoff. "You are disrespectful. You disobey every order and might as well of tried mutiny. But that the thing. At the same time you are, without a doubt, the best Marine I've ever seen. You would, and almost have, tried to give your life for what you believe in. throw it all away for a complete stranger and do anything for a friend. You are what we all dream to be. Unafraid of death and willing to do anything if you think it's the right choice. It's a shame there aren't more like you. And it's a shame they are losing you. Now if you will excuse me, I think I better go tell them the news." He walks forward, placing a hand on my good shoulder for a second before leaving. Stepping out the heavy door without looking back. Leaving me standing quietly, almost confused.

But he's wrong. About all of it. I guess in his broken mind I've become some sort of shining beacon for what he wanted to be. Misjudging every move I made. I'm not courageous or brave. I don't really care in right or wrong or the bigger picture. My life is about the moment, I do whatever my body says to do. My life isn't important to me. It a shell of what it should be. I'm a shell of what I should be. Living day to day looking for that one chance to make it mean something. To make everything matter, not matter what it takes. He's wrong; no one should be like me. An empty husk.

I'm pulled from my thought from the door opening and Hillary is there. Nervously looking around. "Is everything okay?" she asks awkwardly. I simply nod rubbing the thought from my mind. There's a strange silence, from me not wanting to speak and her not wanting to seem rude. And then I see it, crumpled on the night stand, the small piece of paper. And next to it the tags… Johns tags, the broken chain dangling off the side. She watches as I step towards them, picking them up and moving to the bag. I toss the tags in and look at them for a moment. A warm feeling drives away the cold and I take a deep breath, looking at the paper then to Hillary. Remembering I have something to do.

"Where are the phones?" she blinks a few times before answering.

"Just down the hall." She points and steps out. Not wanting to intrude. I follow her out and down the hallway to a set of wooden booths. Large blue phones are phones are mounted in each one. A few are taken but I grab the one at the end of the line, away from the others as much for my privacy as well as their own. I unravel the piece of paper, looking at the numbers. I recognize it as from Seattle but that's it. The rest of it is a mystery. Almost. There's very few people that it could be, the person that gave it to me narrows it down rather heavily. I go to take a breath and realize I'm actually holding it. I notice my hands are shaky and my palms are a little damp and it dawns on me how nervous I am. Nervous at whose voice it will be. The immediate thought will be Carly. And a large part of me hopes it is and another part dreads the idea. If it is her, what do I say? What will she say? My body acts on its own, dialing the numbers and putting the phone to my head. What if it's not Carly? What if it's some else?

"_Hello?"_ Comes the voice, partially overpowered by others. The laughs and sounds that come from a fun meal. The clanking dishes and happy conversations one has with friends. A feeling long gone for me. "_Hello?"_


	18. Caller Unknown

**A/N: Let me tell you a story… about this story. I first started this back in the summer of 2010. It had a different name and slightly different plot. But it was still the same story. Except it only had one chapter and was only 3,000 words long, and it covered from the point of Sam leaving to making this call. And that's when I stopped. And I left it. And now it happened again, but I came back this time. And I have taken 3,000 words, and made them 30,000 words, covering the same amount of plot. And with all that work and determination and support from you guys, I had the same problem as last time. This part of the story. I wasn't able finish it the first time, and I didn't think I could do it this time either. I don't know why this part is so hard for me, but I think I was able to grind past it, and I just hope you can except this crappy chapter with it bad writing and dialogue for what it's worth. A bridge to the next part. And after this we get to parts where I have about 20 different versions of the story to pick and choose from to make a decent one. And that's all I want to do. So, I know this isn't good, but I'm not quite the same person as when I started this, (and I haven't written in some time) so this isn't as easy as it once was. But please, just bear with me.**

"**Caller Unknown"**

"_Hello?" _the wrenching feeling in my gut starts to melt away. I don't know the voice. I don't know who it is on the line and for some reason I'm almost disappointed. But I don't understand why, what were the alternatives? Talking to someone I've left behind, someone who wants nothing to do with me, maybe doesn't even remember me? And with that an old feeling rises in me, something I beat down, and something I have ignored for a long time.

"_HEY! Why are you on my phone?" _a second voice rises through the phone, and this one I know.

"_Because it rang, duh." _Says the first.

"_Well who is it?" _says the familiar voice in a playful tone.

"_I don't know, they did… who is this?" _I feel a strange frustration rising in me that she doesn't know, even though I haven't said anything.

"It's Sam." I say after a moment of silence.

"_Sam…"_ she says, drawing out my name as if asking a question. "_Oh." _She says after a moment, in a cold tone. I can only assume she knows who I am, but that doesn't seem to surprise me. There's some rustling as the phone is passed. _"It's for you." _Comes through the speaker, distant and muffled. My body tenses and I want to scream, to throw things, to break something and disappear. But I can't, I'm stuck here, in reality, stuck with the gravity of the situation. Stuck with the weights firmly landed on my shoulders, unresolved issues, old grudges and feelings being drudged from the depths of my soul. Yeah, I wish I wasn't here, but I am. I'm stuck here with myself. But that's when I see him, the man a few booths down. I don't know him, but I wish I did. A man in a wheelchair, no legs past the knees and a simple, wrapped stump where his right arm should be. But in all the pain and misery he's in his face tells a different story. A large smile is on his face and tears of joy in his eyes as he talks to what I assume to be his family. And I just know that for all the pain he's in, he's the happiest man in the world. Because even though he's thousands of miles away from home, in agonizing pain, he's with his family. And there's nowhere he wouldn't be so long as he gets to hear their voices. And I look passed him, to everyone else. And it's all the same, tears and laughter and joy. People relishing in these rare moments when they, in one way or another, get to be with their families. And yet here I am, with a few scratches and bruises, about to go home, feeling like my life is at the lowest possible point. Like this is the bottom and I ain't coming back. And why, because I left on bad terms with the people I care for? I'm pathetic. I don't deserve this phone call, but I have it, so I'm gonna' take it. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and sigh.

"_Really?" _replies the other voice sarcastically as the phone is brought closer. I tense my body, ignoring the pain and the desire to wince, waiting for this to start. _"Hello?" _my teeth clench and I take a moment to calm down. And a thought comes through. It could be worse. This whole thing could be worse. But it's not; instead I'm alive, in one piece and going home. So yeah, it could be worse. Yeah, that's a thought.

"Hey… Melanie." I let out, a different tone than expected, but it's there, and so am I. There's a long silence and the sounds of laughter fade away.

"_Thank god, I…I'm so glad to hear your voice. I just…" _she sighs and there's another silence. And I don't know what to feel right now. With this situation the way it is, what should I feel? Joy at the prospect of being reunited with family, anger from the things left behind, sorrow that it's not who I thought it would be, or confusion at who it is because of how I'm speaking to them? My broken state can't figure out which to use so it plays a game of roulette to decide, except the hammer lands on an empty cylinder and I'm filled a cold empty feeling instead of the regular human emotions. And I can't respond to her voice. Not the way I want to, and not the way I should.

"Why, I thought you hated me." The words slip through my teeth without resistance. "And why am I speaking to _you? _Why did _Steven shay_ give me this number? And how do _you_ know what's going on?" they continue to flow out, cold and hollow, no force in them, simply dumped from my brain to the world without thought or hesitation.

"_Sam, I…" _I can almost hear the sound of the hammer coming down on a different round and then an explosion of anger in me. Angry at the situation, at her sympathy, her inability to answer my questions. And I can't stop the shock wave of anger as it spreads through me.

"Spare me the fucking water works and tell me why it's you I'm talking to." The silence is deafening as I realize what I've done. I can feel the others around stop and stare at my outburst, little whispers and questions float around but I ignore them. I notice the intense pain radiating from my left side and that my left arm is slammed against the wall of the booth. Focusing on my emotions I feel the anger dissipate. "Mel… I… I'm sorry."

"_Don't worry, I understand. It's okay, really." _She all but whispers in that calming voice she would use on our mother. _"I didn't expect you to be ecstatic to hear my voice, but after I heard what happened… it's okay Sam, it is." _

"After… how do you know what happened?" I mutter in confusion.

"_Sam… you were all over the news. Everyone knows what happened in Korangal. How you held off insurgents at that base while they evacuated, and how you jumped on that grenade for that family. You're a hero, Sam. And after I heard I got in touch with Major Shay and asked him if he could get me in touch with you, and here we are." _She finishes with a nervous chuckle, and I just know that she's standing in a bathroom somewhere, swaying slightly from foot to foot. She always did that when she was nervous. And I blink a few times at her words; I had almost forgotten the story leaked to the media. That I… my team was involved in a strike on an army base in korangal valley. We held off wave after wave of attacker so that everyone could evacuate the base and the nearby village as phosphorous round rain down on us. And I landed on a grenade for some family so they could make it out of the hellfire in time. How could I almost forget my own cover up? I knew something was going to be released, how else would they explain dead marines if they were never sent anywhere? But that's politics, lie and lie and lie so that others can break the rules and lie. A vicious cycle to keep everyone in their place.

"Yeah, It's… it's been hard." I say, eyes closed and voice low. There's another awkward silence. Another one of those moments where she's too nervous and I'm simply waiting for the hammer to come down again. Waiting for another mood swing. Some random violent outburst of some emotion I wasn't aware I had left, but it doesn't come. Just an awkward silence.

"_So, you're coming home?" _she asks tentatively, knowing the answer but asking the question simply to make conversation.

"Yeah, I get back tomorrow. But…" she cuts in before I finish, speaking quickly.

"_You don't have anywhere to stay?" _

"Yeah, there's that." I hadn't really thought about it. I have money, years of pay backed up somewhere. I never had use for it, save the occasional bender at some bar on base. But nowhere to stay. "I know what you're going to say Mel."

"_Good, then you know that I'm not taking no for answer. Do you know when and where you're landing?" _I take a deep breath and close my eyes, knowing better than to argue with her. Stubbornness is a family trait for us. Besides, what else am I going to do? Walk four miles to find a half decent hotel to stay in for a month? I take a moment to answer, searching my memory of the recent conversation with _Major_ Shay for the answer.

"Yeah, tomorrow afternoon at McChord, down in Lakewood."

"_Oh, that's sooner than I thought, but I'll be there. And Sam… it really is okay. Look, I have to get back to work, but I'll be there." _There's a click and a dial tone as the line goes dead, a strange testament to how I feel. I sit for a while, the tone filling my ears, my breathing slow and my eyes fixed on the number pad. I'm torn from the stare from a tap on my shoulder. I turn, ready to tell them off, but I don't. It's Hilary, a worried look on her face as she slowly pulls her hand back. We stare for a while before she points at my arm.

"You're bleeding." She says simply, a hint of fear in her voice. I look down, noticing the small pool of blood on my bandages around a small tear. i then notice the screw on the booth wall, a drop of blood falls from it and land on the table itself. I must have hit it when I slammed my arm against the wall. But why didn't I feel it? I stand, the chair letting out a screech as it slides back. I look to Hilary, her eyes worried.

"Help me with this?" she nods and leads me back to my room where she replaces the bandages. She's quiet, obviously scared. But she speaks first anyway.

"Who were you speaking to?" she poses the question, halfhearted and not expecting a response. So she isn't offended when I don't answer. She leaves quietly when she finishes, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Except I won't let them form. I keep them down, away from the forefront of my mind as I sit in the silence. I take a deep breath and look around the darkened room, my eyes landing on the little orange bottles on the night stand. I stand, flinching from the pain in my side and the pain that finally reared its head in my arm. I ignore it, stepping to the bottles. I pick one up and read the name. Big word on a little label. But for the first time I notice the little words printed on the side, the list of possible side effects. _May cause dizziness, drowsiness and may affect mood. _Is printed on it. I to look the bathroom door, the urge to dump the pills is there, but I ignore it. Instead I move to my duffel bag, sliding the zipper open and looking inside, dropping one bottle inside, and looking at the other, a bottle of vicodin, and take a few. Just to numb the pain. Yeah, just the pain. I drop the bottle in and my eyes lock to what it lands on. I push some things out of the way and raise the picture. It's my team; me, John and Kirk and Bruce with the Captain off to the side, all standing in combat gear, covered in blood and dirt and sand, but all alive, and all smiling. I look at the back. _**Ghost team, 2**__**nd **__**Recon BTLN after icepick offensive. Khost Afghanistan, 2017.**_ I look at the picture for some time before setting it in the bag and gripping the black fabric that was under it. My dress blues, I stare at them for a moment and years of code and conduct break through, as well as the old saying, still fresh in my mind. Once a Marine, always a Marine. I pull them out, think of how much of a bitch it is to put them on correctly. And all I can think is, I'm not sleeping tonight anyway.

**A/N: So like I said. I'm very rusty and haven't done this in a while, so hopefully ill get better in between chapters. And I really don't feel like writing this part a 30****th**** time. So, whatever. I'm back. Because I was going to give you a week but I got more responses the first night than I thought I wood in the entire week. Thank you for that. I guess I should get started on the next chapter now.**


	19. Would it Be Weird?

**A/N: So, this is **_**not**_** what I planned for this to be like. It's a lot longer, and almost nothing happens. But it's here, and it slightly advances the plot, so I guess you just have to take it. And I wrote this over a couple of days, so some of the parts might not feel the same. And if you don't already know, 18 is actually a real chapter, not the question I asked.**

"**Would it Be Weird?"**

I feel a sigh slip from me and look through the lobby window, looking upon the busy street outside. America, land of the free and home of the brave. That's where I'm at, I'm in America. I still can't wrap my head around it. For the first time in years, I'm In America. I'm home, so why does it feel like I'm a stranger in a strange land? An explorer in a hostile land, searching for the unknown, discovering the new and exciting. From when I took that step off the plane I knew immediately, things were different. It's quiet and clean, everyone is calm and relaxed, not worrying about waking up to a kid with a knife about to stab you, or a gun being fired at you, or some guy with thirty pounds of dynamite strapped to his chest as he drives in supplies for the base. No, everything is quiet here. No burning cities or burnt out cars with bodies still inside. No, nothing that I've been accustomed to for the last few years. Nothing here but the regular, the peaceful, things people take for granted. Clean, hot water, transportation and people to watch over you while you sleep. And it bothers me. I don't know why, but I feel at danger here. Exposed and vulnerable, like without a ballistic vest and a rifle I'm more at danger. Like the constant stare from the receptionist is him analyzing me, sizing me up. Trying to find my weak points, trying to plan the best attack. But that's life for me… no, that _was_ life for me. I'm not in Afghanistan. I'm not in some fucking desert on the other side of the world spending every waking second doing what I can not to die so some asshole who thinks his god says we have to die gets rewarded with a bunch of virgins.

I pick up my cap. Staring at the brass insignia pinned to the top. I run my thumb over it and take a deep breath. That's not how it was; they were just doing as they were told, just like I was, the difference was the people giving the orders. The people they put their trust in. That was the difference. What we fought for, that was the only difference. But I can't really believe that, now can I. it doesn't matter who said so; you can't slaughter a whole city. You can't kill innocent you are trying to protect, just because you were told to. It… Noor. That was who gave the order. He was responsible, he gave the kill order. He… he killed my friends. He's responsible.

"No he's not, it's your fault. You were too late to say no and he killed them because of you." A chill runs down my spine and I look around, the only other person here is the man behind the desk, hair slicked back and uniform neat and straight. His eyes sitting on me, like he's waiting for answer.

"What did you just say?" I ask coldly, mouth dry and my stomach churning.

"I asked if they were late, whoever's picking you up." He says, and from the honest curiosity he's sincere. Head slightly tilted like he's sorry. So why did I hear that? _It's your fault. _Where did that come from? I notice that he's still staring at me expectantly. I shake away the thoughts as best I can.

"Uh, yeah… yeah I guess she is." I mutter and he nods understandingly. I didn't notice it but I've been sitting here for at least two hours, staring at the floor. I guess he has reason to be sincere, to be worried. I can only guess at his age, but he's younger, this is probably his first post. But he's right, she's late. It doesn't really matter when I think it through but… but when I just think that she's late I feel like an anger starts to bubble, but's it's always been this way with her. She's always agitated me, and why? Because my mother, our mother loved her more? No, that isn't it. I guess… I guess it's because she always had it together. She always had everything sorted. She was always so… perfect. And I was… I _am _a mess. After a few more moments wallowing in my misery the young man pipes up again.

"Can I ask you a question?" he says jokingly, like he already knows the answer.

"You just did, but yeah, ask away." He laughs a little and smiles before standing and stepping around the desk. He paces for a minute, mouth moving slightly as he tries to pose the question.

"Okay, I'll just be blunt. Are you Sam Puckett, like, _the _Sam Puckett? Like, I used to watch you as a kid and now you're here in front of me except you're not just some girl I used to think was awesome when I was young, you're a war hero and you're here in front of me Sam Puckett?" he asks quickly, hands clenched like he's incredibly nervous as he takes a step forward. And it makes me smile, I don't know exactly why, but his enthusiasm about meeting me actually makes me want to smile. I became accustomed to the odd glare over the years of someone figuring out who I was, but very few ever came up to me, and none with such enthusiasm. It makes me think of when I was younger… when everything wasn't so fucked up. When I woke in the morning on Carly's couch and just spent all day doing nothing. It isn't as painful now, thinking back. I remember the good times now, not just the bad. And I guess it's from the bad that's taking its place. I realize that I haven't responded to the guy, so he's just standing there, feeling like an idiot. I put on my best _I'm not completely fucked _face and answer_._

"Yeah, that's me." His eyes go wide and he clears his throat.

"Holy shit… sorry." He says, running his hands across his uniform and composing himself. "Airman Buckley, pleased to meet you." He says with a large grin and holding out his left hand. We stare at each other for a moment before I slightly lift my arm, granted the bandages are hidden by my sleeve and glove, but the sling is in full view. He pulls his hand back, muttering apologies while he thrust out his other hand. I stand, stiffly, and shake it.

"Corporal Puckett, likewise." I let out, not fully sure how to respond to him. There's another awkward moment as we both stand still. I have nothing to say and he can't form sentences at the moment.

"Sorry, it's not every day that I meet a genuine hero." His voice is slightly higher and quick, overexcited. "I mean… it's an honor to actually meet you. I spent the last hour watching old iCarly stuff to try and figure if it was you. And it is…" he points back to his desk and sure enough, sitting on the monitor is a playback of an old episode of the show. I try to smile, but instead I frown. There she is, or was. That's her, the same image that's been playing over and over in my head for years, that same smile she would always throw at me when we were close and I made a dirty joke, that smile. The one that said I shouldn't have done it but I did so she's going to laugh anyway, even if it was wrong. And a mixture of guilt and sorrow. Sorrow because I'll never see that smile again, and guilt because neither will the world. I took that from them when I left, when I crushed her. And I can only hope that she was able to move on, because I'm not worth crying over. I never was. It takes a moment to see that Buckley is confused, eyebrow raised. "You okay? Is it something I said or…"

"No…no, I was just thinking about something I might have fucked up." I throw on a fake smile and wave the doubt away. He nods, unbelieving but smart enough not to pry.

"Would it be too much to ask for an autograph?" he asks nervously, voice rising in pitch as he finishes the question. I try to mouth a word but it doesn't come out. So I try again.

"Sure." I say hesitantly. It's been some time since I've had anybody ask me to sign anything. He goes over to the desk and pulls out an Air Force recruitment pamphlet. He returns pamphlet and pen in hand. I take them and look at them for a moment, before looking to him.

"Oh, and if you could make it funny, that would be awesome." I sigh and uncap the pen. I try to write something, but the pen doesn't move. I realize just how surreal this situation is. I've been in the county a few hours and now I'm about to sign a pamphlet for a fan boy because of something that's been irrelevant for years, while waiting to go back to a life I abandoned. But I haven't exactly had a regular life so far, why should things be normal now? The pen starts to move and I don't even know why, I didn't come up with anything, so why am I writing? The pen stops and I read what's there. _To Buckley, the frothing little fan boy behind the counter, Sam. _He pulls the pamphlet and pen from my hands and reads it, a smile forming on his lips. "Thanks." He says, returning to his desk and sliding the pamphlet in to a small bag and putting the pen back in the holder. He looks at me and smiles again, but before he can say anything a voice rings from an office in the back.

"BUCKLEY, QUIT DICKING AROUND AND GET BACK TO WORK." He panics and falls into his seat, beginning to type quickly. He gives me another smile and buries himself in the screen. I sigh, sitting back down. There's a quiet in the room, save the clacking of a keyboard. And the quiet isn't good; there isn't anything to stop my mind from raining hell on itself. Like earlier. _It's your fault. _Part of me is curious as to where that came from, but the rest of me already knows. Already knows that it's true. Even if just something my warped mind conjured to destroy itself. It's true. It is my fault, I was too late. It doesn't matter if the Captain gave the order, or failed to lead properly. I am a human being, capable of independent thought, so why couldn't I think to move. To just move a little bit quicker. To ignore the Captain and move a little bit earlier. I knew what would happen, but I sat there anyway. I just sat there and waited for an order I knew wasn't going to come. It's my fault. It's my fault they're dead.

I rest my head in my hand, taking deep breaths, trying to clear my mind. The doctor warned me about this stuff, what would happen if I didn't take the medicine. That my mind would eat away at itself, destroy reality and leave guilt and pain instead. But I can't take them, it changes me. It makes me weird, emotionless. Like there isn't anything in me to be hurt. And I can't stand that feeling, like nothing matters. I can feel a yawn pull itself from me and I try to stretch, but I stop less than halfway, pain shooting its way through my side. I stifle a groan and pull my duffel to me, opening it and pulling out the bottle of pain meds. I take a few, ignoring the bitter taste and tilt my head back. I should be good for a few hours. But I don't know if I'll be awake that long. My eyes are heavy and my body is sluggish as I reposition myself. The chair is cold and hard and all I can do is stare at the ceiling, badly painted white, but still scrubbed clean. I always hated it when things had to be that clean. Like when I would trash Carly's room and she'd make me clean everything up while she sat on her bed reading a magazine or something, that smile on her face. She always enjoyed the fact that she was the only person who could tell me what to do, and she was the only person that would never abuse such a power. And just like that, she's has a hold on me again. She isn't even here and all I can see is her. All I can think about is her. And I don't know, or care, if it's just the drugs but I never want this feeling to leave. This warmth in my chest as I think about all the good times, but just as quick as they come, they go, and all that's left is her crying face from that night. Her voice as she begs me not to go, as she does everything short of hold me to stop me from leaving. But I left anyway; I ignored her cries and left anyway,

I lean forward, my head landing in my hands, ignoring what little pain there is after the drugs. I take a deep breath. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I so fucked up? I…So what if I loved her? What difference would it have made? She would have taken it in stride, just rolled with it, laid me down soft and made sure she didn't hurt me by saying no. right? I didn't notice them till they moved past but someone is standing at the desk. And Buckley has that same enthusiasm in his voice.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm looking for Sam Puckett," this obviously perks my interest, seeing as how the voice isn't a girl's voice, but a man's voice. I look up, and I see a tall man with longer hair, wearing a dark shirt and a pair of worn out, paint splattered jeans. "And before you answer, just know that I've been walking around this place for the last two hours and I am not taking no for an answer. So instead of saying, oh well I'm sorry but she isn't here, don't. Just stay quiet and… is your wallpaper a tiger? That's awesome." He's leaning over the desk, staring at the screen. Buckley leans back in his chair and points to me.

"She's over there." The tall man turns and I see his face, long and slender and partially covered by a goatee, but there is no mistaking him.

"SAM!" he says rather loudly. I stand and straighten my jacket, trying to keep my calm.

"Spencer? Why are you here?" I ask shakily. He doesn't reply right away.

"I… Mel couldn't make it so she asked me if I could… you look really weird." He says after a while, voice blunt. "You don't look right, that outfit doesn't look right on you." Old habits kick in and my body acts for itself.

"Oh really, speak for yourself. What is that on your face, pubes?" there's a moment of silence as a smile spreads across his face. He steps closer to me but stops short.

"Would it be weird if I hugged you?" he asks, arms already outstretched. I hesitate, most of me wants to say no and the rest is still processing the shock of seeing him. "Screw it." His arms wrap around me and he lifts me slightly. I wince and he drops me, stepping back and looking at my arm. "Your right, that was kind of weird. Sorry."

"It's fine, why are you here?" he doesn't say anything, just slowly reaches and runs a finger across the scar on the bridge of my nose. I pull back, swatting his hand away. "Dude." He pulls his hand back.

"Sorry, it looks really cool._ I'm _here because Melanie didn't think you'd be back so early and couldn't make time, so she asked if I could do it and I said yes. And this place is a nightmare." He motions to the building before staring at me again. He shakes his head. "Sorry, you just look so serious in that uniform. Come on, I'm parked… somewhere out there." He gestures to the door and starts to walk. I take a deep breath, letting the act fall apart for a moment. I wasn't expecting this, I wasn't expecting him. There's a ping of sadness in my chest, he's just like he was. He hasn't changed at all, and it makes me wonder how much else stayed the same. How much I've missed, and for what? How much I've changed, and for what?

Spencer is wandering around outside the door, obviously lost. No, it wouldn't be weird, I decide. He disappears for a while before a car pulls up to the door; he steps out of the car as I make my way out. He takes my bag and plops it in the trunk. And I take a mental note to ask him about the car seat in the back as I sit inside the car, letting my head rest. After a second the doors shut and we pull away.

"If it's all he same to you Spence, I'm going to take a nap now." He nods understandingly as I shut my eyes. And a thought runs through me. If he's still the same, what about her?

**A/N: so next chapter is going to most likely be a flash back, but of what I leave in part to you. A, the night of Pam's funeral (the last time Sam and Mel spoke in person). B, What actually happened in Farah. (Why her whole team died. And I plan to actually have the cataclysm chaps actually rewritten.) Or C, the night Sam realized she was in love with Carly, (Not going to be very fluffy) which I feel will be the popular choice. But just keep in mind; all three are going to happen eventually. So it's not a one and only one situation.**


	20. Manhunt: Chasing Ghosts

**A/N: I do not feel the need to explain myself. But I'm splitting the flashback up. Part one now, rest later. And I didn't revise this at all. No time.**

"**Manhunt: Chasing Ghosts"**

**November 28th, 2018. 0103 hours. (1:03 am.)**

**Cpl. Samantha J. Puckett.**

**United States Marine Corps MARSOC. 2nd Reconnaissance Battalion. FORECON team "GHOST".**

**Over outskirts of the city of Farah, Farah province Afghanistan.**

The osprey groans as the pilot pulls a tight turn, spinning the aircraft over the edge of the city, the prorotors screaming from stress as we slow considerably, cutting close to the low lying buildings.

"One minute." The pilot shouts over the small intercom. The darkened bay becomes bathed in red as the pre-drop lights activate. I'm the first one to stand, grabbing hold of an equipment strap as I sling my rifle over my shoulder. Everyone else stands, forming clusters in the small space, grouping with their teams and doing final equipment checks. The clanking of rifles and helmets is reassuring.

"If anybody forgot anything, now would be a really bad time to notice that." The pilot calls, everyone gives a laugh or a chuckle and braces. There's a tug on my vest and I turn, Bruce is there, tugging at various parts of me and he nods.

"The red light makes you look like a girly version of Satan." He says with a smile on his lips.

"That might be the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me." I put a hand to my heart, feigning a girlish sigh and smile. He bursts into laughter and I turn, the red light shifting to green and I pull the M45 pistol from the holster across my chest, bracing for the sudden stop. It doesn't actually come, just the hiss as the bay door lowers to a darkened rooftop, there's a pat on my shoulder and I jump out of the osprey, which never actually touched the roof, but instead did a slow glide over it for a quicker exit before moving to another rooftop, a black smudge in the night sky. I rush a few steps forward, not sure what to expect as I sweep the rooftop and fall to one knee. It's mostly clear save the door and the pipes for the air units, all a dusty silver testament to the life that has since left the city. A minute goes by, then two as we spread, then another tap on the shoulder. I make my way to the door on the far side of the roof, only a few meters, but might as well be a mile. The only sound on the roof is the footsteps behind me. Why am I on point? Shouldn't one of the guys with shotguns be up here? No matter, the roof is clear as I reach the door, stacking on the left, John on the other side, the Captain behind him and Bruce to their right, Kirk behind me. The Captain nods to me pointing to me and Kirk before motioning to the lower floors and then gesturing to the eighth. Clear the lower floors and return to the eighth for assessment. I nod to him and I nod to John and he slowly tests the knob, peeking in the doorway. He steps inside and takes a knee, waiting for the rest of us. I step inside, eyes adjusting to the darkness. I pat him on the back and he moves down the stairs, stopping to clear the floors as we pass them. He reaches the eighth and disappears with Bruce and the Captain. I keep moving with Kirk, clearing each floor. And it's all clear till we hit the fourth. There's a certain smell I have come to know, one that I would make weaker people vomit and faint, but I push through it, motioning for Kirk to continue down. He nods and I make my way through the small maze of rooms, coming to the source of the smell. I know what it is, I know, for the most part, what's behind the door in front of me. The dried blood stains and smears an easy indicator. I hesitate, turning the knob but it doesn't move. I take a step back and wait a moment. I really don't want to see the other side of the door. But I shrug away the hesitation and kick the door in, and burst into the room, scanning left to right. I cough and lower my weapon, pulling the balaclava down over my face to help mask the smell. My eyes water and my stomach churns. The room is full of corpses, some lined against the wall, bound, and others hastily pulled in the room. I look away, blinking hard, but something caught my eye, or rather a lack of something. I kneel down and scan the floor when it clicks. No brass. Whoever did this was smart enough to take the casings. But why? Mass murder isn't something to be discreet about. I stand, looking around the room once more when I hear the radio crackle.

"All clear down here." Kirk's voiced is still hushed but he seems confident.

"Copy, get up here. Puckett, sound off." I shut what's left of the door and step away.

"Clear." I say grimly.

"Get up here. Last door on the left." It's a short jog up the steps, reaching the eighth floor and searching for the room. I step inside, Bruce finishing the set up on a table, rolling out a map. They all gaze at me, knowing the look.

"How many?" John asks, returning to his set task.

"At least thirty. Mostly adults, tossed into a room on the fourth floor. Most were execution style, bound and gagged. Others were probably gunned down on trying to escape." Everyone looks to the floor for a moment.

"Yeah, other teams are reporting the same." He says, setting up the last of the blind supplies. Kirk comes into the room, slightly out of breath.

"Bottom floors are clear, haven't been used for some time. Barricaded the main entrances… what did I miss?"

"Mass dead. Captain?" I lift the mask, holstering my weapon. He turns and stares. "Did any of the other teams notice a lack of brass in the area?" he nods firmly.

"It would seem as if the men are trained." He mutters blankly.

"Just fucking fantastic." Kirk adds, leaning against the wall and sliding to the floor. I pull the rifle from my back, sliding down the wall next to Kirk, rifle between my knees. Everyone has that sort of destroyed morale you tend to have when you find out that the whole assignment is going to be staring at bodies and chasing ghosts. Everyone except the Captain, who's leaning over the table, staring at the map. Unfazed by mass grave a few floors down.

"Well Campbell, looks like I do owe you that five bucks." Bruce says, standing by the door, eyes locked on the Captain. But he continues before Kirk can respond. "The Captain doesn't have a soul after all." He steps towards the table, hands clenched. "Look at him, we've been here twenty minutes and already there are hundreds of bodies, and he doesn't give two shits about them." The Captain stands up straight, facing Bruce.

"All of you fail to see the positive side of this." Bruce's eyes go wide and he scoffs loudly, spinning and gesturing to the room.

"Oh, forgive me for not seeing the positive side. And what exactly is THE FUCKING POSTIVE SIDE OF THIS!" he almost shouts. There isn't any response. But the captain looks at me, because he knows that I understand. And I do, as horrible as the situation here is there is a positive side, even if I wish there wasn't. There's always a positive. You just have to look for it.

"All of the bodies mean that this area has already been cleared, and the age means it happened a while ago, so they don't have reason to search the area again. So the chances of them finding us here drops." I toss out grimly, flicking the safety on my rifle. Bruce goes quiet, understanding the point but hating that it had to be made. He sighs, rubbing his eyes and walking to a dark corner. He never was very good with death. The Captain puts a hand to his ear, listening intently.

"Acknowledged. Move in closer to the city center, find better blinds. Maintain radio silence from here on out. These guys are better trained than we thought, no reason their tech wouldn't be up to par as well." His hand drops, and he looks to me.

"You're up." I sigh and stand, moving to the map. He points at couple of things, his words moving through me. He pats my shoulder. "I want you to move in to a vantage point, close to the heart of the city. Provide over watch for that section and report any movement once you're there. We are going to find this bastard." I nod, moving to the door and down the stairs, ignoring whatever he started saying to everyone else. I climb through a window and drop down, pulling down my mask and chambering a round in my rifle. It's a long way to the vantage point, and I'm going to be alone the whole way.

I've been moving for at least an hour, slowly slipping from cover to cover just in case the dead city decides to come to life. My mind continues to wander back to the room, to the lack of brass. I've passed a few similar scenes on my way, innocent people, lined against the walls of their homes, bound and gagged as they were blown away. But why, why do this this? What does it solve, what does Noor gain by slaughtering everyone he comes across? And where's the evidence of him ever being here. So far the corpses are the only sign his followers were ever here. And this is way to clean to have been a big group of angry guys with guns. Pissed off farmers don't police brass and hide bodies. No, this is way too professional. Something else is going on here, something bad.

I step out from behind the burnt out car I had sat next to for rest. I pass slowly over the remains of multiple vehicles, occupants removed and burnt out. That's when I see it, another pile of bodies, neatly packed against an alley wall. I continue to move passed when something catches my eye. I turn around the corner, flicking on my light and looking at the line of bodies. And I see it fully now. A little girl, lined with the rest, but different somehow. I step closer, noticing something sitting on her chest. I kneel down, looking over her. Her eyes have been closed, her hands placed on her chest and her clothes straightened. She doesn't have any sings of struggle save the one hole in her chest, right through her heart. Her body isn't as old as the others. Maybe a week, she was alone for so long. I move her hands, placing mine on her chest, pressing slightly. Only two ribs or cracked, the shot passed in between, a perfect shot to the heart. I roll her over and look at her back, the hole there is bigger than the other. I hear the small metallic clatter of something landing on the ground. I set her down gently. And there it is, a single casing. Most likely placed in her hands, a sign of sorrow for having to take the shot. I recognize the round, a sniper casing. But the holes don't match. A high velocity round like this wouldn't make a hole like that. No, it could, from a far enough distance. But that would make this one hell of a shot. I place her hands back on her chest. This is bad. Really bad. If he could make a shot like that on a such a small target, I would be no trouble. I stand, straightening my vest nervously. I give one last look to the girl, a wave of sadness and anger wash through, but I ignore them. It isn't the time. I place a hand to my ear, switching the radio frequency.

"All teams be advised. Evidence of a sniper in the area. Recent. Extreme caution advised." There's a flurry of grim responses and a final click as I lower my hand. Policed brass, expert shooting and a highly trained sniper. The Intel is wrong. This isn't some guy with a bunch of angry farmers. This is a man with a private fucking army. And he's on a war path. I look up to the darkened skyline, the crumbling building a few streets away a perfect point. I shoulder my rifle and continue. A sinking feeling that things are only going to get worse creeps into me. Yeah, a perfect point to chase ghosts.


	21. Like an Angel

**A/N: This chapter and the next chapter were released at the same time. Don't miss one.**

"**Like an Angel"**

There's a jolt and I bounce in my seat slightly, eyes slow to open and sensitive to the light. There's soft music from the radio and a gentle hum from the heater and I notice the warm breeze. My hand is slow to rub the sleep from my eyes as I stare out the window. We hit the city, I'm here, almost. The sun's setting and the city lights come to life as we pass building after building. And I can feel his eyes on me as we sit in the evening traffic, inching forward through downtown. I sit my chair forward, a click and a groan. I struggle to move past the dream. How many times do I have to relive that? How many times do I have to see that dammed city when I close my eyes? At least… at least I wasn't asleep long enough to see all of it.

"It's rude to stare." I mutter and he shifts around in his seat. His fingers tapping the wheel lightly with the music.

"Sorry, it's just that…" his voice is quiet, filled a certain sincerity I'd long forgotten. But I notice how its different than before. That initial burst of excitement has since faded, his voice slower than before, his eyes are warm, but the energy that once glowed there has dimmed. I was wrong, he has changed. I can see now, he traded his eccentric attitude in to be the man we always pretended he was as kids. "You look like you've grown up." he says at last, awkwardly, unsure if that's how he should have phrased it. "Last time I saw you... you were so different. It's good to have you back." I can only stare at the small tear in the corner of his eye. Then another. "Dang-it, I promised myself I wouldn't cry." I look forward for a moment, almost amazed at the height of everything around me. Was it always this high? I look down, noting the fresh pavement and the road crew up ahead. But I'm pulled back to the car by a single sob and a deep breath as he stops his tears from getting even worse.

"Speaking of growing up..." I gesture at the goatee. He cracks a smile again. Lightly rubbing his facial hair.

"Yeah, Kaley suggested it, so I just went for it." he says absently, staring at the road ahead.

"How long have you two been married?" the question is only really half asked. The words came odd, awkward as I said them. There's a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as the car pulls round a corner. We're close, I think. I cant help but think back to the before I left, how cruel I was to her. My own sister, my own blood, and I barley spoke to her. Yelled at her for little stuff. Mocked her when she was happy and argued with her when she was sad. I don't deserve her kindness. Nor his or anybody for that matter. But she's nice anyway, despite everything, she's gladly letting me stay with her, happy just to know I'm okay. And its all because I'm her sister, because that's what family does. The pit in my stomach grows deeper, suddenly sick with myself, sick from everything I've done. I don't deserve anyone's kindness. And I remember something Carmine told me years ago. But the thought melts away as I hear Spencer's voice, his thumb rubbing the gold band on his finger.

"Two years. Almost three." he says with a big smile, the kind that would make normal people smile with him, share in the joy of the moment. But I'm not most people, I'm me. So I just smile sadly as he starts to tell the story of how they met. But I can't hear him anymore. I cant hear anything besides my own heartbeat. Thumping away in my chest. Reminding me how I'm alive, how I'm here, and how everyone else that should be here is gone. How men with reasons to live, good men, my friends, died in my place. Carmine's voice echoes in my ears, a sound warning he told as a child. One I ignored.

"_Do you remember what I said about friendship? Well, it's a two way street. You cant just expect them to throw themselves under the bus for you every time. You have to be willing to do it for them too. You need to be strong enough to help them too. And don't ever be jealous of your sister, she looks up to you, and you need to look out for her." _I remember that day, Mel was with us for the first time that summer. She was sad and crying about being away from home and so Carmine got her a present to cheer her up, I cant think what, and I threw a fit. It had been months of near torture for me and she got a gift on her first day. He pulled me aside and told me that. He wasn't himself that day, no jokes, no cryptic message. The way he said it was like he was warning me, like he knew I'd end up like this. But it wasn't one of his lessons, so he didn't spend days driving it home. He said it just once, and he never brought it up again, so I just forgot it, let it slip away. Until now.

Spencer was still talking, chatting away happily about his life. A few parts slipped through, that she was an artist as well, and enjoyed the same things Spencer did. He mentioned the car seat in passing before chuckling and falling silent, some corny joke that slipped past me while I wallowed in my misery. Is this me? Is this what I am now? An emotional wreck that cant function?" I rub my eyes and shake it all away before it consumes me. Now isn't the time or place. I hardly noticed that the car had stopped outside an apartment building, or that the first droplets of rain had smacked onto the windshield. "Little late." I mumble to myself, maybe the city wasn't as responsive as I remembered. It was awkward as I climbed out of the car, dragging the numb mass that was my body to my feet. He'd already made his way to the back to the trunk, my duffel in his hand as he shuts the lid. He has an awkward smile across his face.

"Mel lives up on the third floor. Or is it the fourth. No, no. I was right, it's the third. Right?" he looks at me expectantly.

"How would I know?" I shrug a good shoulder and he stares for a moment and nods, understanding how stupid his question was. It wasn't a long trek up to the third floor and down the hall a few times as he struggled to remember the right room but the silence made it last a life time. He would check over his shoulder every now and then to see that I'm still there. And after a while he stops at one and tries the the key, laughing as the door unlocks and opens in, almost glowing with a weird pride in himself. It's not a big apartment, but its nice. The walls a clean blue and the carpet an off white. Small stains here and there from a lifetime of accidents. There's a couch and a television and other electronics around I either ignore of don't recognize. Spencer steps into the kitchen, a row of silver appliances on the wall with an island as a table. He sets the duffel down and and steps to a shelf over the television.

"I've never been in here." he says finally, picking up a picture and smiling, holding it up. "This is from that time we all went to the beach together. I remember Freddie had a crab crawl up his trunks. The day ended in the hospital." he laughs as he sets it down. I remember it too, it was a great day. Even if it wasn't all that warm and nobody swam but we all had fun. And I almost smile when I think about how fun it was to tease Freddie about the swelling after that. I sigh quietly and step to the duffel on the island. I don't know if I can do this, I decide. Its harder than I expected to simply be reminded of this, let alone live it and its still my first day. I open the bag, digging through for a moment before the bottle of pills I don't like taking floats into my hand. The ones for my _disorder_. I take a moment to stare blankly at the bottle when he pipes up again. "And this one was from my wedding. That was a great night. The best one, actually. Gibby fell on the cake and then ate most of it, Kaley didn't understand why it was funny, but we all laughed. And Freddie messed up and put a picture of him posing for his company calendar in the slide show. Melanie had to pull all the wires out because it kept showing the picture over and over again. And Carly... Carly was like an angel. The only time she stopped crying was to toast us and to sing after everyone took advantage of the bar, but still an angel. But now, no matter how amazing that moment was, I can't help but wonder what it would have been like if you were there." I pop open the lid and take a few pills, not sure what things will be like in a few hours, but it's like he found the knife lodged in my heart and is twisting it without even knowing what it does. I see him look at as he puts the picture back on the shelf. His eyes are curious to the bottle but he keeps silent as he steps back to the kitchen, focusing on the duffel as he gets closer. It's not long before he moves part of the bag and stares, brows furrowed. "That's a sword." he says matter-of-factually. I nod as he touches the hilt, running a finger over the gold.

"We all get them after a while." he doesn't really hear me as all he does is mutter to himself that it's a sword. "Hey Spence... it's been a long day and I need to unpack..." I can't say the rest, if I do I won't be able to lie to myself that I'm not kicking him out.

"Yeah, yeah. Any... it's really good to have you back. I mean it." his voice is shaky and slow, but he sets the key on the island and steps back, nodding as he steps out. A minute passes as I stare at the door. The knife still twisting after he left.

"I wish you hadn't meant it." I stare at the table a while before digging into the bag and pulling out the picture of me and my team, as well as Johns tags. My eyes wander to the wedding photo, and I can see her from here. The long dress with hair over her shoulder and a beautiful smile on her lips. "Like an angel." I mutter, the knife sinking deeper. "Like an angel."


	22. Manhunt: Blackout

**A/N: This chapter and the previous chapter were released at the same. Don't miss one.**

"**Manhunt: Blackout"**

**November 28th, 2018. 0633 hours. (6:33 am.)**

**Cpl. Samantha J. Puckett.**

**United States Marine Corps MARSOC. 2nd Reconnaissance Battalion. FORECON team "GHOST".**

**Positioned as over watch of west end of the city. Farah province, Afghanistan.**

I struggle to hold down a sneeze, gritting my teeth while my eyes water. It doesn't work very well and I'm not sure why I even tried as it pulls itself from me. My body shakes as my head snaps away from my rifle. A piece of rubble tumbles from the wall to my right: falling down the broken tower and pinging off the scaffolding below. Well, good thing I'm not trying to be quiet right now. So far my time in this building has been less than ideal. I wasn't sure I had the right place when I first saw it. An old and crumbling tower overlooking a small plaza from the west end. I'm sure in the past it was a fairly impressive building, but now just a broken reminder of the state of the country. Stuck in a never ending cycle of rebuilding as the its slowly chipped away by time. It took some time to find the place, and even longer to realize there was no safe way to reach the top from the inside. The stares on the floor below me, just a crumbled heap of stone and wood pulled away from the wall, replaced by a rudimentary basket on a series of ropes. Not something I was willing to stand near, let alone pull my weight up in. It was almost an hour of grunts, groans and curses as I climbed the rusty scaffolding on the outside of the building. Strains and bruises spotted my body after a series of mishaps. And after it all all I could think about was how fun it would be to get down.

I turned my scope away from the horizon, watching as the first ribbons of light climbed over the far hills. The sky slowly changing color as the sun signaled the start of the day. Its the sort of thing a tourist would gawk at, or snap endless pictures of as they gasped and oohed. But they would miss the real magic, the actual beauty of the sunrise as they stared at it through their phones and cameras. But I'm not a tourist, and I don't really care about how gorgeous it is. Its not the way I think. All I think is that the coming light will play hell with my optics and the day would make me easier to spot. After the thought washes away I think for a moment of how different things are. How much I've changed since I got here how I had to change to survive here. Thinking like a regular person, enjoying a sunrise, longing for home or simply looking at something for an extra moment to see its beauty. None of it was advisable here. A sunrise ruins stealth operations, lowering visibility as the darkness melts into shadows. Thinking of home, a thought that plagues others, changes how you think. You're slower to the draw and more foolhardy, rushing to finish your tour and ending up in an early grave. And taking something in at face value, focusing on its beauty instead of strategic value means you don't see the rifle aimed at you from behind it. But after being here for this long I don't really have those issues anymore.

I roll away from the edge of the tower and behind a small wall, landing on my back. I yawn and rub the tired from my eyes. I don't know why I'm up here. I've been staring through my scope for hours and I haven't seen anything. No bad guys, no hint of any enemy presence and no civilians. Not even a stray dog. It's not right. Less than a week ago this was a city, crawling with people as they went about their days, ignoring the conflict around them. A week ago was when Noor and his army showed up. A week, all it took him was a week and the place is deserted, but what he did with everyone is beyond me. I can only guess he gave them an ultimatum, join or die. And so far it looks like there wasn't wide spread acceptance of this, if the mass graves were any indicator. I sit up, pulling my rifle into my lap as I let out a small groan, my back tight and stiff from hours of not moving. I blow some fallen dust of my rifles ejection port and feel the cold below me. Its not exactly warm up here, and definitely not pleasant. I check and see that my pistol is still where I left it, sitting up against the wall to my left, ready in case I need it. I had to remove the holster to stay comfortable while prone. I slip a sigh. Its been a long night. And it going to be an even longer day. I closed my eyes for a moment. Just for a moment, and when I opened them the sun was in the sky.

"Shit." I grumble as I pull my self to my knees, pulling my rifle close to my chest as I peek over the edge at the now illuminated plaza. But it was the same as before I dozed off. Burnt out cars and old buildings casting odd shadows that play with the mind in the eerie silence. I yawn again. Of course it didn't change. There was no life left here. I go to slide down the low wall when I spot it. Just a glimpse. Nothing more that a shadow jumping from one wall to another. But I saw it, movement.

I shoulder my rifle and rest it on the wall, fumbling awkwardly, trying to sight the shadow again. I take a deep breath and concentrate, lining up on the blackened car below. Nothing, I slide the scope over to a collapsed wall, still nothing. I know I saw something. I know it. I'm about to move again when I see it, the shadow of someone slipping from cover to cover. Then another. And another and a few more. One becomes two and two into five. My breath catches in my throat, blinking rapidly. But I do all I can, I wait, watching the likeliest place for them to move. And he moves, sliding from one cover to another, a slip of tan and black, too fast for me to hit so I look back and see a helmet peeking up over cover and I spot something on the front. White letters, hand painted, _Grinch_. I know that helmet. Staff Sergeant Hector Poali. One of those younger guys that's thrown into a command he wasn't quite ready for but filled out well enough in the end. Good marine, even if he's a bit impatient. I struggle for a moment, my hands almost uncoordinated as I make sure I'm on the right channel.

"Vampire... I repeat, vampire." the radio clicks and a burst of static funnels through. Vampire, a security code phrase for identification. A moment goes by and I see a radio toss from man to another.

"Helsing. This is Staff Sergeant Hector Poali. Name and rank." his voice is garbled, barley understandable in the static. But it's there. I realize how wrong this is. He shouldn't be here. His team was on the north side last time I checked. And the radio shouldn't struggle this much. I can only wonder what's going.

"This is Corporal Puckett. You're a long ways from home Staff."

"Puckett, damn good to hear a friendly voice." there's a pause as he stands up and stares at the tower. "We saw you moving around up there and remembered your warning from earlier, got a little nervous since we didn't think we'd get a hold of you with the comms blackout."

"I think this is a great place for a joke about the quality of our equipment but something tells me this isn't on our end." the radio clicks and I reposition my knee against the wall. He looks around for a moment, breathing heavy.

"Yeah, I think that wouldn't be as appropriate as you think. Have you had any contact with the Captain? Positions are going quiet all over the place and we have no Idea whats going on. Last orders were to check on the state of things where we could... but that's kinda hard without a working radio." there's an awkward chuckle as he lowers the radio.

"No, I haven't, unfortunately. Last I heard was go radio silent and keep my eyes open. But Ill see what I can do. Maybe the elevation will help." he waves a thanks before we all look at the distance, the direction of two loud shots ringing out. A moment passes before a third rings out and a cold chill runs down my spine. I stare a the radio for a moment, dumbfounded before snapping to. "Actual this is 2-1. Actual this 2-1. respond." a click and static. "Actual this 2-1. Anyone out there?" the static is almost defining for a moment as I wait.

"2-1, this is GHOST actual. I have you. Wait one." his voice is cool and calm, like ices sliding through me. A few seconds pass. And new voice rings through.

"Sam, Its John. Status." I let the small smile out with an odd chuckle.

"Well hello to you to. I'm fine, but I've got three shots ringing on the horizon and I'm staring at Hector all wide eyed and confused and wanting some orders. You wouldn't have any would you?" another static filled pause.

"We're stuck In some sort of disturbance. Radios are flaky at the best of times. A lot of people are silent right now and were blind up here. Tell hector to scout the gunshots and report back here. Cap wants you to stay put till I get there, he doesn't want anyone on their own right know and you've still got the best eyes in the city. Confirm orders." his voice is ragged and heavy, strain pulling through it as he pauses between sentences.

"I've got nice eyes and get to take a nap while Hector strolls through park on his way home and you're bringing me chocolate because mom's worried. Received and understood 2-2. 2-1 out." the sarcasm was unwanted and unintentional but base instincts are fueling my body when the click rolls through and I rest my head on the old stone. This whole thing is wrong, but that's nothing I font already know. I look down at hector, standing awkwardly with a rifle hanging in his hand. He looks up as the radio clicks. "Cap wants you guys to head to the shots, find out whats going on and head back to camp. I'm staying here to do what I can on over watch. Copy?" he hangs his head for a second.

"Oscar-Mike. Watch your ass up there." he tosses the radio back to his man, looking at the tower for a awhile before slipping into an ally. I slide back down to the floor, staring at the radio. Over watch my ass. There's nothing over here. I've been here for hours and the only thing I know is what Hector told me. Which was as complicated as telling me to go screw myself. The only thing I've learned since I got up here is that these guys are a hell of a lot better I was told they were. And now I sit here in this till someone comes and gets me. And old fairy tail comes to mind and I think I need a haircut. I take a drink of water from the tube on my shoulder, sighing and pulling myself to my feet. Rolling my shoulders and yawning, drowning out the frustration. I grab the rifle and stand it against the wall, grabbing the holster and strapping it back on. I'm about to slide away the pistol when I hear an odd squeak in the other room. I pause. Its an old building and there's plenty of things to make sounds, but only if you touch them. And the only thing that would squeak would be... that pulley? I raise my pistol, suddenly aware of the quiet around me and the sound of my breathing. I take a step forward, loud and heavy. Since when was I so loud? I take a deep breath, calming my nerves.

It maybe eight feet to the door to the other room but from here it could be a mile as I look at it. Instinct carrying me forward, pistol raised and sighted. I'm suddenly at the door, feeling like I just ran a marathon as I slide against the frame. One, two, three. I count my breath as I listen to the silence. Alright, here's hoping its just a mouse.

I spin round the corner, ready for anything except for the man in a green jacket and combat vest and a rifle in his hands, wide eyed. Like he's confused that I found him instead of the other way around. Instinct pulls the trigger but the shot just grazes his shoulder, a large foot hits my hand and knocks my pistol away. I turn and catch the butt of his gun on the side of my head, spinning to try and lower the damage. Good thing to, as his shot just scrapes across my vest, the plate keeping the buckshot from digging into the left side of my chest as I fall to the ground clutching my arm, letting out a pained yelp. Dead and hurt are two very different things, I decide as I grit my teeth and take shallow breaths, tasting the blood in my mouth. The two men exchange words in a different language as they step closer. I hear him pump the shotgun and the empty shell bounces off the floor next to my head. Everything is a bit surreal as I look up at him, staring up his barrel. I pull my knife from my waist and stare at him without him seeing. He says something but before he pulls the trigger I swat the shotgun away, landing my knife in the meat of his thigh. He screams and pulls away and I half jump from the floor into the second man, bringing him down with me, an angry scream in my throat as I scramble on top of him, my fists slamming in his face as he shouts and tries to hold me back. He finally shoves me back with both hands and rolls to his feet. I do the same but charge into him, knocking him down but he was ready for me this time, pulling me with him. The edge where the stairs were turn into the ceiling and more so the man, sweaty and angry, blood in his teeth as his hands wrap around my throat. Air is very suddenly hard to come by and I panic, groping around above my head for anything and a quick idea comes to me as I grab something. I grasp the rope tightly and slam my free hand into his nose once, twice, and his grip weakens. Instead of a third punch my thumb lands in his eye and he screams and lets go, I lean up and wrap the rope around his neck and land another punch and throw him off me and over the edge with all of my strength. He disappears and the rope screams through the pulley it shakes and stops suddenly at the metal bucket lodges in the system.

I take a few rushed breaths, glad to taste the dusty air in my lungs as I stand up. Doubled over and sucking in air. A weight collides with me and sends me to the floor once again. I forgot about him. He's suddenly there and he's trying to shove my own knife in my throat. Both my hands are clasped around his wrist and the knife inches closer. I can almost hear his teeth crack in his mouth as he clenches his jaw. I cant stop him, he's too strong. But I'm not getting killed with my own knife. I push his wrist to the side instead of up and the knife pings into the floor, just nicking my neck and I slam my fist into his throat. He rolls away, gasping and cursing. I look and see my pistol just sitting there, waiting. I'm almost angry as I scramble and grip it tight, rolling to my feet just in time to see him raise the knife and charge. I pull the trigger and he slows and stops. I fire again and he stumbles and falls back against the wall. The adrenaline surges again and and I step forward, firing at him as he slides down the wall, shaking as each round connects. The slide locks back and the life in his eyes fades away. I lower the pistol, reaching my hand under my vest and testing my ribs. I don't they are broke, but it still hurts like a bitch. I look at my chest and see the damage. The holster is shredded and the fabric is heavily ripped, the top of a ballistic pate is scratched and bent. I close my eyes and breath deep. The pain growing and spreading as the adrenaline dies out. I cross the room, kicking the mans foot. I finally get a good look at him. A big man with a trimmed beard over his dark skin. I look around again. So much for them not being here, and so much for them being a bunch of farmers. I step away, noting the pistol holster on his hip. But I sit down, just for a minute. Sliding a fresh mag in my pistol. I think I'll wait right here for John. Right here sounds good.


	23. Innocent

"**Innocent"**

The bathroom was a practical wasteland when I had stepped in, angrily pulling off my dress blues. I'm not sure why, but the last clear thought was me staring at myself, staring at the photo from the beach. I was so _young _when it was taken, still so _innocent_ at sixteen. I still had the carefree attitude and the big blonde curls in my hair, my arms wrapped around Carly right as the camera flashed. I was grabbing her to drag her to the water because I didn't want to swim alone and nobody would go with me, so I did what I would do, I cackled like a mad man and drug her to the water and all she did was laugh and giggle. We were at the waters edge when Freddie ruined it, screaming and dancing around, swatting at his crotch. We were all so young, so happy. That's what I remember, a sicking feeling again as I stared at myself, almost shaking with anger at the blonde girl leaping at through the photo, holding on to my greatest wish without even understanding. _You fucked everything up. _The words were mine, swimming around in my head as I felt the frame strain and come close cracking from my grip. _You fucked everything up._

I had set the photo down, breathing heavy and staring at my hands, the numb and the cold washing over my shoulders and through my chest. I was almost frantic,_ I'm not her_, I decided quickly, noticing the strange sensation in my arm, confused at what I was feeling, the only emotion clear enough to understand was the hate forming in me, the hate for myself, for the younger me in the picture, not a care in the world. It wasn't long before I had the urge to vomit, rushing through the apartment, knocking things over as I searched for the bathroom, but when I got here nothing came out, I heaved and heaved but nothing happened. I just coughed for a while, standing up straight and catching my reflection. It was more than I could handle, staring at myself in the mirror, staring at the girl in the dress blues, eyes red and tired, chest rising and falling with every breath, moving with me, doing whatever I did. Except she wasn't silent like I was, she was mocking me, _you don't deserve those clothes, _she hissed, and I agreed, pulling them off and staring at the mirror accepting what was there as myself.

My eyes are bloodshot and bags have formed under them. My mouth is dry and cracked and my nose is red from the cold and I cant stop staring at the reflection, feeling the whirlwind of emotion die away as the medicine finally take over, killing the doubts in the back of my mind. or at least most of them. This is the first time I've really looked at myself in years, the first time I've looked in a mirror and saw the raggedy hair, barley curling and too short to even reach my shoulders, the color darker than before. My eyes have faded over the years, losing some of their hue. My face was longer than I remember, my jaw having hardened some, my face still evidence of years in the sun, weathered and tan even with all the bed rest. I never noticed the scars before, not the small one on my lip, not the one over my right eye and not the big one, a straight discolored line, the edges ragged, crossing from directly under my left eye and across the bridge of my nose. I knew they were there, but I never looked at them. I just saw the same old face, my face. But I cant see it anymore, I just see the mess standing there without a shirt, confused and alone I put a hand to the tattoos on my right shoulder and bicep and I think about the picture, about the young girl again, and that's not me. I look nothing like her. Not anymore.

The urge is overwhelming and undetectable at the same time, some unknown force driving me as I dig through the cabinets, looking for something, not entirely sure of what till I find it. A lucky guess that it was even there. The clippers are big and old, but almost like new from how little they must have been used. They are already humming their tune, waiting for my to put them to my head by the time I stop, looking at the bandages wrapped around me, clinging tight to my skin. Ending half way up my neck and travel all down me, from shoulder to wrist to waistline on my left side. Was it always this bad? Was I always hurt this bad, to be wrapped like this? I look at my hands, at my palms, at where the bandages end on my left arm and hints of the burned bits of my skin seemingly sneaking higher and higher. Looking at the calloused skin and endless little healed cuts from the years of hardship. I clench my fist, taking more effort than expected and look up again, tilting my head and seeing the same thing on my neck, partially healed skin peeking through. Something close to anger, but not quite, pulses in me and the clippers do their job. I don't think as they go, simply staring at myself and moving my arm as they sheer away. It doesn't take long before the sink and floor are covered with my hair. An odd sight, mounds of blonde strands. The clippers fall from my hand and I look at the hair the still there, shorter but still long enough to run a hand through, little hairs that stuck around fall to my shoulders. I turn my head in the mirror and finally note Melanie standing behind me, watching intently.

She's leaning in the doorway, her arms crossed and her eyes flicking over me, her face...sad? I cant tell but she stays silent. doesn't move or speak, doesn't go in for a hug or greet me in any way, just watches as I unplug the clippers, shoving them back under the sink. I turn and look at her. Her face soft and her eyes have a certain caring to them, her scrubs are slightly faded and her hair is pulled back, bangs to the side. It's an odd thought, to see her and realize just how different she is to me, how different she looks, how she must act. But I clear my throat and take a deep breath and she leans in ever so slightly, waiting to hear me speak.

"Do you have a broom o-or a sweeper or something?" I gesture to the floor lightly and she smiles a sad smile, nodding and stepping back.

"I'll clean it... just get dressed." the sad smile never leaves as she watches me and i look down at my self, almost ashamed suddenly.

"About that..." she nods again and disappears around the corner for a moment, coming back with a neatly folded stack of clothes, placing them in my hands and grabbing the dress blues from the floor, draping them over her arm and shutting the door with out a word. It takes longer than I would have liked but I manage to get the clothes on despite being just a bit too small, just a bit too tight. But it's nothing I cant live with for now given that they look fine. A simple thin gray long sleeve short and a pair of dark jeans. I stand for a moment, listening to my breath and trying to ignore the odd temptation to laugh or the urge to cry.

By the time I left the bathroom she'd changed as well, simple things, worn for comfort. Everything I knocked over is back In place, neatly realigned like they never moved, and maybe they didn't. She's over at the island, moving the duffel bag to the side when she sees the picture and tags. She stops and lifts them slowly, staring intently at the worn out photo, her eyes flicking from face to face, before moving to the tags. She takes a moment and sets them down, her head moving quickly as she spots me, but anything she has to say dies in her throat and she takes a breath.

"I uh... I didn't know i-if you were going to have anything to wear so I picked some stuff up and just used me a reference. Sorry if they don't fit..." she watches me, almost nervous, like she was caught with her hand in a cookie jar. I step through the room, stopping at the isle and snatching up the picture quicker than I meant to, pain popping up in my arm making the elbow stiff. It's only a moment to find the bottle of pain medicine and take a few, her eyes staring at me the whole time. But she looks away, picking up something else, looking back to the pain medicine, slightly puzzled.

"What?" she loses focus and looks at me.

"Nothing, I just... I didn't know it was that bad." she's quiet, apologetic. She rubs the back of her neck for a moment before moving to the fridge, looking for something to cut the tension. "Are you hungry? I've got some cheesecake leftover from some party." she ends the sentence with a chirpy tone I remember her always having, trying to forget the awkwardness.

"I'm not hungry. Bit thirsty." she pauses for a moment, handing me a bottle of water and staring at me like a complete stranger. Not hard to guess why. Since when did Sam Puckett turn down free food. She shakes her head slightly but doesn't say anything, and neither do I. The water is cold and crisp, but doesn't quite hit the note I'm looking for. But I'm not about to ask her is she has a beer floating around in there. I fiddle around with a strap on the duffel and a thought pops. I don't know what all is in there. I never checked to see what he packed. How did I ignore that? How could I not check?

"Who was he?" her voice is nervous and higher than before. She's moving slightly, anxious, fidgeting.

"I don't see how that matters to you." my voice is harsh, quick. I didn't mean to say it, but old habits and hidden emotions are hard to stop. I can't just ignore the old anger bubbling back.

"I didn't mean to pry, I was just asking..." she says defensively, her features hardening, like she just remembered who I am. Like she remembered what I'm like.

"How about you don't ask next time." the bubble pops and I turn, making my way to the couch, sitting down quickly, like I'm trying to prove a point, or show how I feel. But she doesn't respond and I don't look when things start to move. But as the seconds tick by the bank television has a way of diffusing me, sitting quietly and staring at my self in the screen. And I feel ashamed, I said this wouldn't g this way. I look in my lap, scraping off the wrapper on the bottle, flakes of it stuck under my nail. Her steps are light, swift, as she passes the couch, moving to a door in the back. "He was my friend... my best friend I guess. If I had to put words to it." she stops, her head down as she takes a deep breath and moves to the couch, sitting on the opposite end, picking at a thread on her elbow. She doesn't speak, just listens as I fill the silence. "We... uh... we met in the SERE program, a... survival school in California. We were partnered in the evasion drills. We uh...w-we had to hide in the woods while groups of guys hunted us. We didn't get along at first because he already knew what to do and I just ran, giving away our position at least twice in the first few minutes,. It was mostly just him telling me to shut up after that. But we stuck together from there all the way to the HRP course. Then we split, it was at lest a year before we ended up in the ranger school together, he came from pathfinders and I came from the scout sniper course so is was the same thing all over a again. Different ideas to do the same thing. We had both changed by then, but we didn't really know each other till we got deployed." she doesn't say anything, just watches me closely, taking in every word.

"Our first assignment was in the Korengal valley, we had to uh... we had to track some insurgents to a village on the valley floor. It was peaceful there, beautiful eve, just farmers going about their day as their families played in the fields. It was all quiet till one of the guys with us took one to the chest, went down like a rock. It was an hour long firefight after that. An hour of gunfire and screaming and after that we just sort of stuck together. Some unspoken bond, doing what it took to keep each other alive." I don't know where it all came from, some base urge to tell someone. To try and get the secrets off my chest. But it doesn't last long, the walls close again before anything important slips out, like the things we had to do to make it. She's looking at me, waiting for me to finish the story, an unsatisfied look on her face from not getting an end. But I stand, slowly stepping to the island again, digging through the duffel and hoping it's there.

"What happened?" she tries to hide the sheer curiosity under the sadness in her voice, and it almost works... almost. I don't say anything, what should I say? How do I answer that? Do I tell her the truth, that I failed? Or do I just stay silent, waiting for her to drop it. It doesn't take long for her to move on, not wanting to dig too deep. "Sorry, really. Sometimes I forget that you weren't backpacking in Europe or surfing in Australia or something you know, out doing all the stuff I always thought you'd be doing by now. Instead you were going through all that. Years of fighting and pain. I'm sorry." I find what I'm looking for, a worn out wallet with my I.D and enough money to help my mood in the folds. I slip it in my pocket and go to leave, but she takes a stride and grabs my arm. "Where are you going?" his voice thick with worry.

"I need a drink." I say coldly, her shoulders slumping and her hand slipping down. Her eyes showing that she might finally understand how hard this is going to be, for both of us. I make it through the door way when I turn and look at her. "If you need to know... I let him down. Just like everyone else." the door shuts just as her hand reaches her mouth, shutting with a click and I move down the hall, digging my hands in my pockets as a cold voice washes through me. _Yes, you let them die, you watched them die. _distorted and cold or not, I still know my own voice. I think back to the photo again, the innocent girl at the beach with her friends is well and truly gone.


	24. Manhunt: Hangman

**A/N: Living without internet is definitely challenging to me. And this story. But through my phone and some techno wizardry I don't don't understand I have found a way to start posting again. Very slowly.**

"**Manhunt: Hangman"**

**November 28th, 2018. 0803 hours. (8:03 am.)**

**Cpl. Samantha J. Puckett.**

**United States Marine Corps MARSOC. 2nd Reconnaissance Battalion. FORECON team "GHOST".**

**Positioned as over watch of west end of the city. Farah province, Afghanistan.**

The world is a pained swirl, floor and dirt and stone and sky and back again as I sway back and forth. My teeth clench over and over and I grip my vest, pulling at it, struggling to breath. The pressure is absurd, like my vest is trying to crush me the life from me. I slow myself, in through the nose, out through the mouth, again and again. It doesn't help much but at least I'm doing better than the other guys. The man with the beard has long since stopped twitching and gasping, the thick pool of blood has grown, dribbling down his abdomen, mixing with dirt and stone, a red slop around him as it spreads and touches my foot. it slips under my boot and up my leg. The wetness is warm and I want to vomit, but I grunt and groan instead. Placing a hand on the wall and pushing myself up, heels digging in the dirt down to the stone of the floor, pushing and sliding in the slop. I'm up, supported by the wall, rolling off to one side and taking a step, my feet are sluggish and uncoordinated, slipping on the wet floor and I crash to my hands and knees, landing in the puddle, his boots in my face and the cloth of his pants soaked red. The blood seeps through my gloves and pants, a disgusting warmth and I once again resist the urge to vomit, the smell of him reaching my nostrils. I glance up, his head to one side and his skin pale. And a thought hits and I clench my fists, handfuls of the bloodied dirt and it's easier to breath now, less pressure, more pain as the adrenaline wears off. How did they know I was here? How did they know? I think back to what Hector said, about positions, like mine, going dark. Comms are never perfect, but could they be jamming us? That would be some high end gear for supposed insurgents. But so are tactical vests and mossbergs. So what the hell does that mean? How is Noor arming his men? I shake my head, it doesn't matter at this point. They're picking us off, one group at a time. But how, how the hell do they know we're here? Unless... unless they were waiting for us. Fuck, they knew we were coming, _he _knew we were going to come. He must of mapped out the best positions, just like we did. He did his own recon as he put thew city to the torch. He waited for us to come. That's what those shots were, it was another team getting shot in the back of the head. I struggle for a moment but manage to stand up, just to stare at my hands again, the gloves wet and soggy. I tear them off and wipe my hands on my pants, like its going to help, but the pink tint remains. I look down at the guy on the floor and glance at the occasional squeak as the rope sways around, held taught by the other dead guy, the other guy I killed. I want to puke again at the thought, years of experience don't change the feeling I get every time this happens, every time I do this. Every time I... kill someone. God, I fucking kill people. It's in my fucking job description. That's a nice thought. I feel thew sudden surge of anger as I look down at the guy, grunting as I kick his boot again.

"Why can't you fuckers just stay home for once?" but I'm sure they thought the same thing. This _is _their home. They were born in this country. They grew up here, had lives here torn apart by war and conflict. God, who's really the bad guy here? No, no, no. I can't think like that. That's bullshit, that is weakness talking. They killed a fucking city, and who knows what else. And for what, to prove a point? To provoke us so they can kill us as a warning? Fuck, I hate this place. I wish I was back in the middle of the desert, staring at random villages, just waiting. But no, I wished to get an urban assignment. Old sayings still ring true, I guess. I kneel down next to the guy, coughing and staring at him. I raise my hands to do... something. But what, am I going to honor him, give him last rights? He tried to fucking kill me, almost did. But again, he's just doing as he's told, just like me. He's just some guy that follows orders, I sigh, closing the man's eyes, disturbed by how quickly the warmth left his body. I look down at his hip again, then to my chest, and to the shredded holster. I groan as I lean over him, unclasping the one on his hip. I struggle for a bit, partly because this is so very wrong, and partly because the clips are in odd places. I eventually tear it from under his leg and his torso shifts, sliding down the wall, leaving streaks of blood and bullet holes. "Sorry, but I'm sure you'd understand." I stand and step back, examining it. Its a simple holster, universal. Made to fit just about any gun and accessories you can think of, within reason "Then again, this is to help me kill your friends, so maybe not." I pull the old makarov out of the holster. Its still in good shape. Must be surplus. I grit my teeth as I bend over and strap it to my leg. I grab my pistol and shove it in and it fits, surprise, surprise. Is this what it comes down to, robbing the dead? The famed spoils of war? I take a deep breath when I hear a faint voice.

"What the?" I step to the edge, I know the voice, and he sure took his sweet fucking time.

"Bang, bang. You're dead, forget your training again? Maybe you should get a tutor, or a personal trainer. For guns ad stuff." I wait a moment, definitely feeling the effects of the last hour on more than just my body.

"Wow, Puckett, that was weak. So, I take it you had an... altercation with this guy, maybe over who got to go fuck themselves first, because Sam, its okay to take turns." and there it is, that odd humor that just doesn't sound right coming from his voice. But damn it's nice to hear it.

"Yeah, well I'm pushy, you know that. He figured that out for himself. The other guy took a bit more convincing." I step away from the from the edge, giving the dead guy one last look as I shove the makarov in my belt and grab my knife from where it landed. It takes a lot to keep myself from lingering. What else is there to do? I roll my neck and sling my rifle over my shoulder and pull it tight and get in a ready stance, wishing my gloves weren't sopping piles of crap.

"So, how am I to climb up there? Rope day all over... oh." he stops as I leap forward and wrap my hands around the rope, holding tight and letting gravity pull me down as I place my hands on the rope, one after the other. I get close to the bottom, just a few feet till I'm touching the guy still hanging from the rope when it starts to creak and groan, the whole system swaying back and forth and crying out before collapsing in on its self. It only lowered the rope a few feet but it's enough to throw me back and smacking off the ground into a pile of rubble. I just lay there for a moment, eyes closed and breathing shallow. My ribs are pounding and my whole back to stinging and it's like someone took a hammer to my skull. Just as fun as I thought it would be. I open my eyes and John is standing there, head cocked to one side and his hand held out, obviously holding back some comment. "Come on, things to do, places to be and people to shoot." I blink a few times and groan.

"But I don't want to go to work, just a few more minutes." I roll a bit and grab his hand and he yanks me up. I take a moment to dust off and he steps to the body, now half on the ground.

"So, what was the word?" he gestures to the body and I take a moment to realize what he means. Hangman.

"FUBAR, these eastern types never get that one." he looks at me like he's unhappy with my answer.

"That's an acronym, I think that would be cheating." I stare at him, really, cheating? The logical thought is in the back of my head, about how it's wrong to joke about this stuff, but it's not nearly loud enough.

"And it often times is used as a noun. Example, this whole fucking situation is FUBAR." I state matter-of-factually and he kneels down to the man, pulling out his knife and cutting the rope.

"Example is accepted, but rules are rules. Rebuttal is denied. Technical victory as competitor is unable to continue. Congratulations, anything to say?" the sarcasm is gone from his voice as he lowers the guy and places his hands on his chest, closing his eyes and standing. I used to think what he is doing is odd, wrong somehow. But it's how he was raised, how he is. All life is sacred and nothing that happens here matters to him until it reaches a personal level. This guy, the enemy, is still a human being. Still just someone doing what he is told to, and he never did anything to John, so why should John hate him? Everyone is someone, and no-one deserves what they are given. Its some phrase he told me long ago and never said again, I think we were both drunk when he said it, but I remembered. One of those little things that sits in the back of my head. He turns and looks at me, pulling his M4 from his side and gesturing to the door.

"I wanna go to Canada." I say as he steps through the door way. "Good food." I mutter and follow him, pulling my rifle from my back and shoulder it. Today is just one of those days where everything is just... weird. And violent, lets not forget that, or creepy. There is a whole list to describe today, and good isn't one of them. He nods to me to move up and I do so, a slight limp in my stride from the fall. And its still just starting.

"I heard something on the way here, Cap wants us to join up with Bruce and Kirk then go find Poali. Parties over, time to round up the drunks." he rolls a shoulder and turns to an alleyway.

"Great, hand holding, my favorite. And what do you mean you heard something." he looks back to me and starts to speak when gunfire fills the air. We both duck but realize it's a few blocks over and he turns to me, shouldering his carbine and checking the mag. "Say no more." I whisper and we head towards the gunfire. Well, he heads towards it and I'm just following, so I can only guess that that's where the real party is. This is another one of those moments where you think about how far off track your life is. Here I am, in a foreign land full of people that would rather stab me than look in my direction, holding a gun and shooting the locals. And no the best thing I could possibly do right now is run _towards _gunfire. Its almost enough to make me want to try over, go back to the good old days when my biggest concern was getting to school or actually eating that night. _Almost _enough, everything has it's disadvantages.

It's a few minutes, even at a steady run, to get close and by then it's stepped up. More guns join the fray as we close in on the area. An old intersection with a knocked over light post and a burnt out car in the middle, one of those roads that everyone used but was never a high enough priority to even pave. We slide into cover at the edge of a building, around a corner from a street lined with old buildings. Stone and mortar for the walls and tightly packed dirt for a road. John steps back and motions to me and to his eyes. I nod and kneel at the very edge, holding my rifle tight as I lean out and stare down my scope, it swaying gently from my breathing. I look around, taking it all in. it's not a pretty sight. Bruce and Kirk are both huddled behind a burnt out car as gunfire rains down on them. Loud pops and cracks as the men fire wildly at there target. John taps me on the shoulder. "Ill cover, make for it on my go. When you get there cover me to the door, peel right and go in from the side." I nod, taking a deep breath and sighting the windows of the old three story building, staring at the barrels of the various guns raining hell. A few moments go by and he taps my shoulder and instinct takes over. Its a few seconds from here to there. But that's not the problem. The problem is on off the bastards seeing me and firing. The rounds land at my feet at I run, upset by the lack of cover I keep running till I reach the remains of the car, sliding into Bruce and scrambling to scoot away as the rounds continue to ping off the car.

Bruce checks me and gives a thumbs up. He's breathing heavy and covered in dirt, and Kirk isn't doing much better. They both slap my shoulder, smiling and ducking at the same time. "i send you guys on a beer run and you just had to pick a fight with the locals. Did you at least get the beer, maybe some jerky or something? The shake their heads and chuckle. Bruce pulls something off his back and shoves it in my hands.

"No, but I found your drinking helmet, just in case. Safety first right?" I flip the helmet around, wiping dust off the painted word. _Floor. _I strap it on and rap my knuckles against it.

"Yeah, tequila sounds great right now. Maybe our friends up there have some. Think we should ask?" they smile again and a round smacks into the car a few inches from kirks head causing him to pop up and fire a burst at one of the windows.

"So, plan? Anyone?" Kirk asks.

"We cover John to the door then peel right and go get my fucking tequila. Oorah?" They reply in unison. I don't exactly like the plan, but I m not brimming with ideas. I see John peeking around the corner, waiting for the signal and trying not to get shot at the same time. I hold up a fist and he nods. I look at Kirk and Bruce, nodding and we pop up, letting out waves of suppressed fire and the guys in the building duck down, our rounds smacking to the ceiling in the building. We duck again and I peek up and see John stacked up at the front door waving to me. "PEEL RIGHT." one after the other we slip to the door, firing as we go, the street fills with the sound off their return fire, several rifles barking in our direction. We make it to the door and Bruce stacks with John while Kirk and I slip around the side, stopping at a window. A second goes by and I see four men come running down the stairs, they have the same vests as the others, holding FALs And Aks, geared up but untrained. I grab a flashbang off Kirk and he smashes the window with the but of his Scar and I toss it in, covering my ears as it goes off, they all shout in surprise and moan and scream as we breach, one after the other from both directions, the stunned guys drop quickly as the rounds pass through them. We move in formation, up the stairs and one runs around the corner and John hits him twice, blood splatting on the wall and he falls away. We move to the other staircase, checking each room as we move. Two more come down the stairs and we fire at them, four sets of rounds connect and they tumble down the stairs, leaving blood as they go. John slips to the back as he reloads, Bruce taking the front as we climb over the bodies and up the stairs, more men pop out and more men fall as we fire on them, leaving bloody holes in the walls as we go. On the second floor a door slams shut and one guy tries to run and I place a round between his shoulder blades while Bruce slips to the back to reload and I draw my pistol, moving to the closed door, falling back as the guys inside fire wildly at the doorway. Kirk tosses another flashbang through one of the holes and we step back, it goes off with the intended effect and I kick the door in, Kirk stepping past me, popping a man in the middle if the room and checking his left, I head right and take down a man in the corner and sweep the rest of the room. I tap Kirk and slide a fresh mag in my pistol, slipping to the back of the line as we head to the top floor. We reach the top and it seems empty, but only for a moment before a flashbang lands at my feet and I have just enough time to cover my eyes as it goes off, deafening me. All I can hear is ringing sound as I stumble to the side narrowly avoid gunfire. John shakes me a few times and snaps his fingers in my face and I just nod. Everything is just a swirl of lights and sounds as I stand there, holding my ears and yelling. I gather the strength to look up and see the others firing at a room at the end of the hallway. I don't hear it but I see John load a grenade into his launcher and scream _forty mike-mike!_ Bruce and kirk take cover and John fires into the room and I feel the thud as it explodes and dust and debris fly from the room. They form up again, sweeping the last room and stepping back to the hallway and I faintly hear them call clear. I look at the ground and see my pistol sitting there, but the door in front of me opens and guy runs out with a knife, probably having run out of ammo and charges john. Even stunned I still have enough sense to pull the makarov from my belt and dump the mag into the guy. The first few rounds hit his back plate and he stumbles ads the last few hit his neck and head. He drops and I call clear, or at least I think I do. For all I know I shouted about hamburgers.

I drop the makarov. Thanks dead guy. Ill call us even. I squat down and close my eyes, trying to get my hearing back as I grab my pistol and slide it into the holster I got from dead guy. I take a few deep breath and the ringing starts to subside. Bruce kneels down next to me, a hand on my shoulder as he taps my helmet.

"You alive in there?" its like listening to him through a wall but I hear him and all I can do is nod as John calls out a mag check. Everything gets a little better with each second but it's still terrible. Bruce stands up and checks his ammo when Kirk calls something out.

"You guys hear that?" hes standing by a window, straining to listen.

"No, I don't." I shout and Bruce laughs. I might hear whatever he heard but I do hear the thunder clap as the whole building shakes and the floor stars to collapse. Someone screams _tank_ but it doesn't matter as it fires again and everything collapses in a cloud of dust. The floor falls out from under me as the level below disintegrates and I land on the bottom floor, a whole floor of rubble landing on top of me, leaving me in darkness.


	25. Hello Officer

**A/N: I'm not sure how much I like this, it's moderately important, but poorly done. And I feel I should mention, as someone is curious, that the story currently alternates between the past (Farah) and the present (Seattle). This is the present, the next chapter will be the past, then the present. But soon the flashbacks are going to change from Farah, which is it's own story arc, to single serve flashbacks like Sam and Melanie's last talk in person, and the night Sam realized she loved Carly. Which is not a fluffy story. And if you want a different flashback, let me know. I'm open to new ideas.**

"**Hello Officer"**

The bar was old, worn down and out of the way. One of those places on some small back road with few travelers and fewer signs to signify it's existence to outsiders. An old bar that's been here longer and than I have. The kind of place I could only find if I thought back to when I was a kid, too young to stay on my own when my mother would go look for her next benefactor to see her unhealthily drunk and _vulnerable _for the men around her. I'd sit in the corners breathing in the cigar smoke and listen to grizzled old men complain about wounds they got from fighting in countries I'd never heard of in wars I'd ignore in school, and men half their age with twice their money would fawn around my mother. And she would act innocent, gullible. Act like she wasn't about to eat, drink and drug them out of house and home. And that was what kept her alive, that was her lifeline, get someone else to do it for her. And I would sit in the back, quietly thinking about how cool their stories were, about how cool it sounded to be off fighting like that. If only I knew how wrong I was. Once in a while I was brought out for the sympathy play, and it would work. We'd get in his car and he'd take us home and she'd lock me in my room and I'd sit there all night and try to ignore her fake cries and his grunting, the sounds that paid for what little she bothered to give me. And in the morning I'd drag myself to school, thinking about those stories the old men would tell , to be so far away from everything i couldn't stand. But then I'd be in class and Carly would simply smile and let me sleep, my foot touching hers just to make sure she was real.

I run my thumbnail against the bottles label, letting the flakes of wet paper pile up on the old worn wood, the sound of the TV going in one ear and out the other, just like the sound of the guys around me, washing through me and leaving little bits, where they served, when, who had the worst luck or the biggest scar. All of it was pointless blabbering, their own little dick measuring competition to impress each other. But they've kept me out of it so far, a few drunken attempts to seduce me with tales of their valor. But mostly I was just happy to be somewhere I felt safe with a beer in my hand instead of a gun. There's a thunder clap and the rain falls steadily as a few of the younger guys show just how impressive, and drunk, they were by screaming and shouting along with the deep rumble. All in an attempt to make the dumb bimbos giggle and complement them. Luckily I'd found my self a place at the end of the bar, away from the loose women and horny men circling them like vultures. But that wasn't enough to stop the older guys, huddled together at one place or another from staring at me with what could only be contempt. And I don't blame them, they're men from a different age, men who'd seen the horrors brought upon the world at the word of their superiors. All they know about me is that I'm some broke down chick trying to use what little luck I have left to leave with someone in my pocket or wrapped around my finger. Sullen or chirpy, they think me just like the others. Only the bartender knew better, he was smart enough to notice the chain around my neck and simply set a beer in front of me and a towel on my shoulder before heading back to the little group of guys at the end. Regulars most likely, or old friends, who can say but them. They were the only group to stop staring after I walked in. Surely the bartender told them I was military, and that was that, their contempt changed to a mutual admiration, or at least a mutual ignorance. At least I hope so.

Numb to the world or not, I still notice the eyes crawling up my back. Not the drunken stares, or those of people in the back, but the others. These were different, deliberate, but there's no point in telling them to fuck off, no matter how badly I want to. What would happen if I went over there? I don't really know, but it wouldn't be good. But at this point, much like everything else, I don't think it'll matter. I take a drink, a long drink, ignoring the bitterness washing it's way down my throat till I realize the bottles empty and set it down, closing my eyes and trying ignoring the whispers. They were different from the others, three guys in a booth, staring at me and whispering to each other since I sat down. Huddled together trying to figure something out. Like I was some great mystery. But after they get to me, after I listen in and hear them insult me. But it's not till after I hear them mention Carmine that I know I'll regret what I'm going to do. I know I'll wake up in cell, or worse, I know it's a terrible idea. But I don't care. I stand slowly, a little wobble in my feet for added effect. The bartender just look at me as I drop my wallet on the bar and nod to him. He shakes his head, saying something to his friends and pointing.

"You really think that's a good idea?" I didn't notice him make his way over. "What are you gonna do, Huh?" the bartender is old but firm, his gray hair in a high and tight and he just stares me down. The same stare you'd get from a drill instructor.

"Thanks for the towel." is all I manage to come up with. I should listen to him. I _should_, but I won't. I stumble around, scanning till I find them, the three guys in the booth by the steps. Their voices get louder when they see me approaching, turning to an outright argument.

"AND I CALL BULLSHIT." he stands up as he says it. Hes a big guy, yeah, buzz cut and tight sweater to show himself off. The other guys were smaller. But it won't matter. It won't change anything. They notice me approaching, a slight stumble and a drunken smile. "I'm telling you, ain't no way." the big guy turns to me, almost startled when he realizes I'm practically on top off him. He's a good head taller than me, but it wont matter. He stutters a bit before throwing a cocky smile and a chuckle at me.

"I-I'm sorry, guys. I-I re-really am, but were y-you talking about me?" I slur it, hard. They look to each other before the big guy grows some balls.

"Yeah, we were just talking about you, and about there ain't a snowballs chance in hell someone like you is related to the oh so great Carmine." he crosses his arms and stares at me. I look at all three of them, gesturing at them.

"You guys knew my dear uncle? Actually knew him? Well, that changes things... any friend of my uncles is a friend of mine." I smile and the big guy chortles.

"We weren't friends with the asshole, but yeah, we knew him. We worked with him. And there is no fucking way a drunk bitch like you is related to a professional like him. Just look at you, drunk off your ass. You probably don't know what year it is." I keep smiling, looking at all three guys, the other two look a little nervous. And the one on the right stands up, nodding his agreement while one in the middle, he seems to be the smartest of the bunch. He shrinks a little bit. He looks familiar but I can't place it, and in the end it wont matter.

"Guys, I think we should just leave her alone." he puts out in a high shaky voice. I smile wide and look at the two that are standing.

"You might want to take his advice, it would be best." they laugh to each other and I laugh with them.

"Why, what are you going to do?" he shoves me back a bit and holds his hands up for effect.

"Liver, two floating ribs and a broken arm. And for you, I'm thinking a busted nose and your knee." I call it simply, they look at each other, amused. "That's how this is going to go down." I drop the drunk look and the big guy laughs again. I slam my fist in his liver and he coughs and lands a hand on the table for support. The other guy comes charging but I slam my foot in the side of his knee and he crumples. The big guy swings, but misses as I duck and counter with a fist to his ribs. He stumbles against the railing and I hold up his arm and hit him again and again, losing myself in the thuds when the other guy throws me back and cocks me in the jaw. I feel the teeth grind and I howl at him and he lunges but I side step him and trip him into the bar, stomping in the back on his knee as he screams. The big guy stands up and swings again and he finally connects, landing his fist in my gut and I cough as he cocks back for another blow but he's swinging for the fences with at least two broken ribs so it isn't hard to catch his arm, prying back his hand and forcing his face to the table, forcing his arm further and further in the wrong direction. He just yells and yells and I hear the other guy, lost in rage as he tries to charge me. I land my foot in his face and he falls back, out cold. I change my grip, wrapping around his arm and hold his head down with my off hand as I give his arm one last shove than twist and it pops and cracks and he screams as I pull him up, just to slam his head off the edge of the table, and he bounces away. I step back from everything, tasting the blood and breathing heavy as I look at my work. "You... should have..." I don't finish the sentence as the world goes black.

I groan, blinking away the pain. I try to feel the back of my head, but my hands are cuffed and I'm stuck to the ground. I let out a groan as I manage to sit up, trying very hard to focus on my surroundings. It takes me a moment to realizes I'm still in the bar, cuffed in one of the booths as two cops talk the bartender. He points at me and somewhere else but I just let my head rest on the table. I like it better with the lights off and the music playing. I cough a few times and push on some of my teeth and I'm in luck, there still there. Surprising actually given how hard the other guy hit me. What the hell happened? Did I get knocked out? By who? I don't have time to think things through before someone knocks on the table. I roll my head and look up at the cop standing there, leaving just a little blood on the table. He's holding my wallet, comparing me to my ID. He's older, with gray in his hair and wrinkles around his eyes and a demeanor that says he doesn't give a shit. He sighs as he closes the wallet and sits across from me.

"So, Samantha, can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?" he lifts two fingers and waits. I sit up and take a deep breath.

"When we get in the squad car, I call shotgun." he lowers his hand, putting them together and sighs again, obviously not amused. "Two, two fingers. Can we go now?" I look around the now bright bar, noticing a bunch of things that weren't there in the dark. Like the eagle globe and anchor above the bar. Figures. "And can we do something about these cuffs? This position isn't exactly great for my arm."

"First we need to talk. What exactly happened?" he speaks with a certain carelessness. Like how this is the third bar fight of the night and there's still plenty of time to break the record but he just wants to go home and I'm stopping him. I look him in the eyes.

"You go first, who knocked me out?" he looks at me with dark green eyes and turns towards the door and points at the little guy from earlier, the one I didn't have to knock out. "Figures." I mutter. He turns back to me, tapping my wallet.

"Now Ms. Puckett, I need to know why a 'war hero', as my partner likes to put it, almost kills two thugs in a bar fight for no reason. But I want the truth, I've already had to hear ten different versions of what happened. And right now im leaning towards the version put forward by the little guy back there, the one who hit you with a bar stool. You see, he says you came over and started acting belligerent and attacked with a certain savagery the likes he'd never seen. But to be honest his friends have priors and he talks a bit to fruity for me, so I would like to hear your version." he seems a little more attentive than before. I take a deep breath.

"I heard them talking and I walked over and waited till I had an opening... and I beat the ever loving shit out of them. It was two on one, they should have done better than they did. But they were to cocky." I stare at him, and he sighs and lowers his head.

"One of those types, huh. Just once I want the sane people. Okay, I'll be back in a minute. Do you understand why you're going to jail tonight?" I nod. And I decide I was wrong earlier. Very wrong. This was a terrible idea. But another one pops and I just let it flow, even as deranged as it is.

"Did you check their car?" I close one eye to stop the light from blinding me. He looks down and cocks his head, finger tapping the holster on his hip.

"There was no need, you attacked them." he states, curiously pointing at the little guy.

"Yeah, I did, but you said they had priors right? I'm guessing drug possession, maybe a few assaults. But I'd wager my left nut, if I had one, that they have priors for possession of deadly weapons and or stolen material. So, some guys with serious priors talk about the half drunk girl at the bar, and then are more than willing to fight her. Sounds to me like they had intent, and ill let you fill in the blanks. Which would give you cause to look a little further." he nods once and mumbles something, looking back at the small guy. "Check_ inside_ the passenger seat and under the tire in the trunk, if there is one. If not, feel the lining." he scratches his neck and walks away, grabbing his partner and talking to him for a moment and they both nod and the partner takes the small guy outside. It'll be a few minutes, and my chances of this working are terrible. But it's worth a shot. After a minute or two the old cop walks back over, and he seems much more attentive to the situation.

"I gotta ask, why?" it was a simple question, but it's not one I'm sure I have an answer to. Why did I do this? Was it because they talked bad about me, or because they knew Carmine? They were obviously street thugs, maybe a level higher, but I didn't know that going in. all I knew was that they were talking, and I attacked them. I look at the cop, but nothing forms. I try to speak for a moment, but nothing happens. I shake my head and take a deep breath, throwing deep thought out the window and letting it flow.

"Well, officer..."

"Dalton."

"Well, Officer Dalton, you know those heavy duty medications that say not to mix them with alcohol? Well those labels are definitely right, you never know what will happen when you break the rules like that." I'm not sure whether I'm telling the truth, letting myself speak freely, or if I'm just putting out a bunch of bullshit, but it isn't hard to tell which one he thinks it is. He turns his back when his radio crackles to life, his partner is requesting another squad car. "looks like he found something." he grabs his radio, staring at me.

"What did you find?" he seems agitated for some reason.

"_Two forty-fives, a nine mil and a few ounces of coke." _Dalton sighs, this obviously not what he was expecting.

"Where were the items located?"

"_The forty-fives were under the trunk lining and the nine was inside the passenger seat with the cocaine, just like you said." _

"Copy that, stay here for the other squad car and fill them in. I'm gonna take drunk and disorderly here back to the station." his partner replies, simply acknowledging him. He pulls me to my feet, checking, my cuffs. "You just gave me a shitload of paperwork. But one last question, the bartender over there says they started it. So, ma'am, did they shove you?" I look over at the bartender but he doesn't seem to care about much of whats happening besides me. He stares at me, that same stare, and nods a little.

"Yeah, they did." Dalton smiles, just a little bit, and starts marching me out the door. "Send me the bill." I say to the bartender and he just holds up a few bills. "Never mind, you had my wallet." Dalton took me to the squad car, gingerly shoving me in the back. And within minutes we were on our way. But all I could think about was that it had stopped raining. We didn't say anything on the ride to the station, or the march to the cells. He didn't yell at the people screaming or crying. The only time he said anything was when he handed me to processing.

"You military types always overreact. You'll get your call in the morning." I smiled, it doesn't matter, I don't remember Melanie's number, but that can wait. It wasn't long before I was in a cell, stretched out on the bench, covering my eyes with my arm. I was close to sleep when the revelation hit me, everything I just did will definitely matter to someone.


	26. Manhunt: Fumes

"**Manhunt: Fumes"**

**November 28th, 2018. 1702 hours. (5:02 pm.)**

**Cpl. Samantha J. Puckett.**

**United States Marine Corps MARSOC. 2nd Reconnaissance Battalion. FORECON team "GHOST".**

**Somewhere inside the city. Farah province, Afghanistan.**

"WATCH YOUR FIELDS... OVER THERE!" the voice is distant, an echo in the darkness. I can hear shouting, the sound of rocks scraping and hurried footsteps. But over everything I hear gunshots. But it's all background noise. Things in the distance. For now my world is simply darkness. I try to move but everything is unresponsive. My legs are locked in place and I can't feel my arms. It's so dark. I blink a few times, trying to... get anything to happen but it doesn't work. Nothing works and I can't help but wonder if I'm dead. Maybe I'm in the last throws of life and I'm just fading away. What happened? _TANK! _A little voice screams in my head. That's right, the tank. It blurs again and I feel like my mind is cement. There was a tank and... the tower. I was attacked in the tower. What else?

"RPG! GET COVER! POALI, RIGHT FLANK, GRAB THE RPK. SOMEONE LAY DOWN SOME FUCKING SUPPRESSIVE FIRE." He's screaming. Panic and urgency in every word. Things must be bad. Poali... we were supposed to find Poali. I guess that's crossed off the list. We were... Bruce and Kirk. They were pinned down and we... we cleared the building and that's when the tank rolled up on us. Fuck, I was shot by a tank. Well, that'll make one hell of a story. But that's what it feels like. It's like someone told me what happened and I just agreed to it, not lived it. Dust falls and lands in my eyes and mouth. I cough and struggle to move my arms, and I realize that they are pinned as well. I cough and cough, coming close to hacking up a lung when the rubble shifts and a sliver of light shines through.

"GILLION, GET OVER HERE!" I know that voice, it's a deep slow voice, filled with authority. The rubble shifts again and I see people moving about, digging around. "Get that side...SAM, SAM!" I can't respond, only cough and squirm as the rubble finally slides off and I'm greeted with the light of a dying sky. And tracers. Tracers fly overhead, lighting the sky like a fireworks display or those shitty effects in movies when a ship hits warp speed. John sticks his face in the hole, reaching down and pushing at the rocks on my left arm. "Come on... dammit. Work with me here Sam, you can't just dead fish this one." he grunts and some off the rocks shift and I realize Gillion is moving them on the outside. I yank my arm, over and over, struggling to free it, just to punch him in the face if I can. I grit my teeth, pulling harder, ignoring the feeling of my shoulder about to pop out. I told him about that in confidence, not as a joke. My arm slides free and I start shoving rocks away from the other one, John digging away at my legs and Gillion is trying to lift the last big piece of rubble off me. I finally free myself and they pull me up and I start to see the full situation. I was stuck in a few feet deep in a pile of rubble, but still well off the ground. The building sloped down as it collapsed on top of me. John shakes me a few times, his helmet is gone and he's covered in dirt and scrapes. Gillion is checking to see if anything is broken and John shoves a canteen in my hands. I drink, eagerly swallowing as much of it as I can. Gillion holds a thumb up just in time for a round to tear through his throat, pinging off the rock next to me. I spit up the last drink of water and push back against a piece of rubble. I peek out and see the chaos.

Every marine in the city is here, all fifteen or so that are still alive. That burnt out car was pushed against a pile of ruble for cover and everyone is scattered, firing wildly down the road. Everyone is dirty, missing gear and some are even using weapons from fallen enemies. But everyone is either fighting or helping in some way, all trying desperately to hold back the swarm of men pouring down the street. Machine guns fire from the back of technicals and RPGs fire from the windows, and the tracer fire is coming from everywhere. Suddenly I'm thrown from my rock as John shoves me down the hill and I land behind another pile of rubble. He shoves Gillion's M4 in my hands and an extra mag inside my vest, pointing at the wave of men trying to push us back.

"We'll find your rifle later, just get up and fight!" I don't argue, my vision is blurry and I can barley breath but I'm still oriented enough to figure out which way to shoot. I make for the burnt car, sliding behind the engine block. I rub my eyes, trying to get some of the dust out. Rounds slam into everything around me. The guy next to me falls back as a round almost hits him. He curses and reloads, firing wildly and screaming. I pop up, find a target and squeeze the trigger. Short controlled bursts. Rapid target acquisition. Don't shoot what you can't hit. I hear people screaming and shouting. It's all drowned out though. The roar of the Russian fifties tops everything. The rounds tear through everything they touch, men, metal and brick as the gunner rains down on us. I duck, hoping I don't get blown in half when I hear a distinctive _BLOOP _and the technical goes up in a ball of flame. I pop up again, taking down a guy trying to climb over the rubble and the other technical opens fire with a new belt. The there's another _BLOOP _but the round flies high, ripping apart the building above the gunner. He ducks his head and I see the marine who fired the grenade is rolling on the ground, screaming as his left arm drags around, barely attached at the shoulder. I aim at the gunner, landing a burst into his gut and he falls away. But it's only a matter of time before some else gets on it.

"Dear god." I say to myself, watching as the horror continues to unfold. I fire again, not really sure what I'm aiming at but I think I hit. The guy next to me pats around for another mag, smacking the car when he realizes there isn't one. I take my extra and shove in his hands. "MAKE THAT SHIT COUNT MARINE." he loads his rifle and looks at me and I realize who it is. It's the Captain. He nods and fires a short burst, doing a double take to his right.

"PULL THE WOUNDED BACK! POALI, WHY ISN'T THAT GUN OPERATIONAL?" he screams.

"POALI IS DEAD, THE GUNS JAMMED!" someone screams back. I fire another burst and another insurgent goes down as my rifle clicks. I try to scream _OUT! _But it wouldn't matter much, there isn't enough ammo to go around. The Captain grabs me by the shoulder.

"GET TO THAT GUN! I WANT THAT THING RAINING HELL SO WE CAN FALL BACK!" I nod and he fires at someone. "GO!" I scramble across the line, past guys frantically searching for ammo, some looking for a gun in general. I pass by one of Poali's guys, his thumb and his rifle both are missing and he's staring at his hands, rocking back and forth, mumbling to himself. I shove my M4 in his hands and he looks at me, lost to the world. I smack him, shake him and yell at him.

"YOU DON'T NEED THUMBS TO FIRE A GUN!" he is still shaken but he nods, dragging a mag from his vest and loading the rifle. He's slow, scared and confused but he still leans against his cover and starts firing. I pass the guy with his arm barely connected and he's done screaming at this point. All he can do is moan and cry as he bleeds out. Someone drags him back, along with the others and tries to help him stand but a round slams into his back and he falls, finally out of pain. The guy that was dragging him falls on his ass and rounds land around him as he crawls to the next wounded man, trying to help. I make it to Poali, or whats left of him, and find the gun resting on a rock he used as a firing stand. I drag the gun to the ground, looking it over. The bolt is stuck back halfway and the magazine is busted in half. I stare at it for a moment, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? I shove the sling out of the way and try to release the mag but the lever doesn't move. I try the bolt but it grinds back little bit and stops again. "Fucking soviet surplus." I chop at the bolt over and over again, hammering my fist till it gives and slides back, a busted case flies out and I move the gun down and place the busted mag against my foot and push. It groans and pops out and I pull the machine gun back up. What now... ammo! I look around, searching for the magazines.

"PUCKETT!" the Captain screams, but what am I supposed to do with out ammo?

"I NEED AMMO." the guy to my left points at Poali's body. I feel around and use both hands to roll him over. I ignore the amount of blood seeping onto them when I see the big curved magazines. I grab one, wiping away the dirt. "Come here beautiful." I shove it in the rifle with steady hands and chamber a round. I wrap the sling around my neck and prop the gun on a rock and fire at anything in front of me dumb enough to move. The rifle barks and jumps with each round, forcing itself into my shoulder and spitting lead. It clicks and I drop out the old mag, shoving home a new one and reaching under the rifle to chamber the round. I keep up the process, the guns around me dwindling to just a few and finally the call is sounded.

"CHARGES SET!" I didn't have time to wonder what they meant when the Captain ordered the retreat. I stayed in place, anybody that still had ammo slowly peeling back, covering everybody else as they ran for the alley. The guy with one thumb shouts and falls back, part of his face missing and I focus on reloading the RPK when the last guy taps my shoulder. I don't hear the order as I stand but I see the smoke grenades land and billow out clouds of white as another technical comes roaring down the road. I fire on it, the rounds tearing through the hood and the diver shakes and slumps against the wheel before the smoke rises higher and obscures my view. I hear the truck rev and the horn blaring and the crunch on metal on metal as it flips out of the smoke, landing on its side and still revving high before puttering out. I start to walk back, the stock held under my arm and the sling wrapped in the other, firing into the the covering smoke. Rounds fly back, wild and inaccurate but I keep firing till the gun runs out of ammo, or jams from a nearly melted barrel. It doesn't matter as I turn and drop it, breaking into a sprint. John is at the corner of the alley, waving to me and leads me through the twists and turns of the darkened pathways till I hear it. An explosion, or several. The ground shakes and my ears tingle as I feel the resounding shock waves pass and the sound of buildings falling on one another sending dust past my boots as I run, giving all I have to keep up with John as the dust washes through the alleyways.

The sun is long gone, having set when there were still things to hear besides the footfalls and the hard breathing of the men in front of me. I don't how how long we ran, how long we followed the winding passage ways deeper into the city. How many streets we crossed. Or how many times we stopped when a truck would drive by, swinging a spotlight in windows and down streets. For as many troops as he had in the city, Noor couldn't lock it down completely. And that was our only hope in this. Get somewhere safe. But where, I didn't know, and I could only hope the guy in front did.

After some time the line stumbled into a rundown convenience store. The shelves were mostly raided but a few things were lying about. I ran inside, John slamming the door behind us as I fell to my hands and knees, gasping for air. Every muscle ached and screamed at me, screamed for rest, rest that would not come. I heard clattering and worried chatter somewhere but I was too focused on breathing until john pulled me to my feet and shoved me against the wall. He shoved a bottle of water in my hands and marched to the back of the store. I drank it, greedily, ignoring the warmth of it till I noticed what the clamor was about. Two Marines were hovering over a third one, lying on the counter and bleeding profusely from his abdomen. I stumbled over to them. It was two from Harper's team, the guy that had his arm blown off and the one with the hole in his gut was the last one from Poali's. I unclasped my helmet, letting it fall with a clank and threw my hands in the fray.

"One of those bastards nailed him as we ran. I'm not even sure how he got this far." his voice was calm, almost uncaring. But that wasn't it. He just knew what was going to happen. And so did I. But that didn't stop me from helping the other guy, Marquez, from taking the guys vest off and cutting open his shirt. I poured the water on the wound, washing away the blood but more just took it's place. I kept my hands from shaking by shoving them under his back and feeling for an exit wound. I couldn't even hear anything besides his moaning at this point.

"Clean entry, no exit. Bullets still in there. It's in deep, we need Celox or some bandages." the sullen one, White, just laughed.

"There are no bandages. There's no morphine, there isn't anything. Don't you get it?" I stared him down, resisting the urge to floor him, but he just dropped his head and walked away. I have to do something. I looked at the guy, his eyes were barley open and he was mumbling. "Stay with me buddy." I moved his head to the side and a trickle of blood came out with a bubble.

"I want... I want the big one, it's faster." he was in shock, and failing quickly. I struggled for a moment with the straps, but my vest came off quickly. So did the long sleeve combat shirt. I pulled my knife from my vest and started tearing and cutting the shirt into ribbons and squares. Marquez caught on quickly enough to press the squares onto the hole and help me wrap the ribbons around him.

"Hold those there, I'll find something." Marquez nodded, trying not to notice the blood oozing through the strips of shirt. I moved through out the store, searching the shelves and digging through cabinets. It was frantic, no thought. Just action as I kept digging and searching. Someone put a hand on my shoulder and I shrugged them off. "Help or go away." I barked at them, but they stayed, spinning me around and shining a flashlight in my eyes. I jerked and blinked away the dots and it's John. He's just there, pointing to the counter.

"He's dead, Sam, stop." his voice was calm, collected. Just like always. I stared at the counter for a moment. Marquez was gone, and the now dead mans arm hung lifelessly over the side, blood pooling beneath him. I turned away, covering my eyes and holding back a scream. I just kicked the shelf instead, sending it clattering into the next row. John's hand was still there, on my shoulder. He pulled away, handing me my vest. "It'll do you some good." I'm not sure what he meant, but I took my time, ignoring the chatter from the back of the store while I did the straps and checked pouches. When I turned back john was gone, my M110 sitting against a display. I guess he found it. I sling it over my shoulder and something hits me. A thought I should have had long ago. I make my way to the back of the store. John is there, and the Captain, White, Marquez and a few others. I checked them again and looked to John.

"Where's Bruce and Kirk?" I asked, half confused and half exhausted. No one looked at me but John.

"They..."

"They what?" I stepped at him. He sighed, looked at the floor and shrunk a little. I didn't wait to hear any replies or anything else anyone was saying. I just made my way to the wall, sliding down and pulling my balaclava off, my hair falling down my neck as I rested my rifle on my knees and put my hands over my eyes. It was quiet, to me at least, for over an hour. I don't know what everyone else was doing. And I don't really care. I reflect for a moment, about how I got here. I don't know why she came to me the way she did. I thought about my training, I thought about when I left. But mostly, as the cold air of the Afghan winter seeped into me and the first few drops of rain hit the ground I thought of being in bed, wrapped in covers. I thought of the warmth she gave me. I thought of Carly, and how I longed to see her again. But over the years I learned to quickly banish such thoughts, they led only to pain. This time just took a little longer. I was ready to let the tears slide down my cheeks when I heard it, along with everyone else, the crackle of our radios. The channel was silent for a moment when his voice came through. Low and confidant. The voice of our enemy.

"_Hello, American soldiers."_


	27. Damage, Disable, Disengage

**A/N: This is not what it started as, this chapter and the story both. I went from a story about simple angst-y Cam to a story about Sam's decent and how she acts on age old feelings and problems... with Cam. I swear we will get to it, or at least I will get to it. I have spent years with this on my mind and now I'm determined to finish it. I just ask that someone is there with me in the end. An thank you to anyone that has ever or might ever read this story. You are awesome. Yes, you.**

"**Damage, Disable, Disengage"**

The bench is cold, the bars are cold, the bed is cold. And hard. The pillow is paper thin and the blanket is itchy. And cold. Everything is just like I remembered it to be. Granted it's a little different, as a kid I didn't have a drunk guy trying to masturbate to death in the next cell. I look around at everything again. It's all gray and cold, like my soul. If there is such a thing. Recent events had, understandably, changed my outlook on a few things. Like this jail, as a kid it pissed me off but I knew that if I waited long enough someone would come and get me. The scariest part was never getting arrested, or getting tased and arrested. It was never the horror stories the cops would tell to scare me away from crime. I was never afraid of the idea that everyone around me could be a murder or a rapist waiting to get out to strike again. No, the scariest part was always the look Carly would give me. That knowing frown. That look and the way she would laugh as I joked about what I did. She would always have that sad look. She wanted me to stop, but she knew I wouldn't. That I couldn't. But she would always cheer me up, and I would try to reassure her that I would change. And I did well for a while. But I haven't changed all that much in some ways. Even if the old Sam was well and dead, I was still copying her, taking from her playbook. I would never be that girl with the long blond hair and the evil smirk that terrorized everyone around her. I'll just the beaten down woman that looks like her and beats people for simply saying a name. The one that can kill without remorse. The one that can take someones head off at eight-hundred meters and only worry about having enough ammunition to get his friends too.

"Look at me now Carly, nothing changed." I don't know where it came from. Whether it was some repressed emotion or a night of drinking while on medication. I don't really care. It could be the truest part of me breaking through, some inner part of me trying to fix itself and I'd just ignore it. I drag myself to my feet, scratching furiously at the part of my back where the blanket actually touched me. I pace and pace and pace till my legs are tired and my mind is numb, mindlessly thumbing a hole in the bottom of my shirt. What happens next? I have no number to call. I have no one with the slightest notion as to where I'd be. And I only have one person in the whole world who would bother looking for me. Two, if Tanner were here. But I don't think he'd bail me out. He'd just sit on the other side of the bars, staring at me till I would crack and spill my guts to him. Some great confession on my part. And he'd tell me to suck it up and go home. I spend the next hour mumbling out conversations to the dead. What they would say if they were here. John would wait quietly till we were in the same room before he would knock me out for getting him arrested again. Bruce would laugh and call it a typical Tuesday night, no matter what day it was and sleep off the bruises, telling me to try and keep it in my pants next time. The man was a perv sometimes but... but I miss the bastard. But Kirk would be different, he'd freak out, gripping the bars and scream to be set free so he could see his wife. And I wouldn't blame him. He loved her so much. He didn't talk about her much, he just showed us a picture once and told us _here, that's her. You happy?_ And we'd get back to work. I'd do anything to see them again. In the last few years they were my family. Any one of them deserved to be alive more than I do. But that was the past. And this is now, no matter how many times I see their faces or live through it when I close my eyes. They are dead and I killed them.

"So, what now?... I don't know Sam, what do you think we should do?... I don't know Sam, I really don't know." I know I'm crazy, I know what I'm doing as I chirp to myself. I know the scariest thing in the world is going to be walking out of this cell and back into the world for another shot at normalcy. I sit on the bed again, having decided a few minutes into my night here that the bench wasn't good for me. The bed was better, but only by a fraction. I put my head deep into the pillow, what little of it there was, and willed it to smother me. But no luck, I only fell asleep, listening to the grunts and panting of the man in the next cell, and the guy screaming at him to stop. The sounds of my youth.

I don't know how long I slept, or what time it was when the corrections officer smacked the cell door with his nightstick a few times. There were no windows, and no clocks. It was quiet, the guy jerking off must have finally found that release he was looking for. Or maybe he actually had a heart attack and left the world happy, as few of us do. It didn't really matter much as the cop opened the cell and hit the bed frame with his nightstick. "Bails been posted." was all he said as he stood there. He waited patiently, not really having anything better to do with his time than watch a scarred woman sleep off a hangover. It wasn't till I looked at him that he bothered moving.

"If I punch you in the nuts do I get to stay in here?" he just smiled, his fingers dancing on his taser. But he knew I couldn't hit him even if I tried. I wasn't high enough and I was sluggish. And he had obviously been in this situation before, stepping closer to the bed and making it very hard to move my arm at him in general, let alone an aimed shot.

"You know, I heard stories about you from a guy who worked here. He would always talk about the girl that came and went like the wind. The one who would take a taser shot and walk it off. The girl who could _almost_ talk her way out of the cell. You aren't quite what I was expecting." he smiled and I propped myself up, throwing my legs off the bed and rubbing my face in my hands as I hunch forward. He stepped back, out of arms reach, griping his taser.

"Jesus... how long did Francis work here?" the cop was probably my age, only a few years into his illustrious career of rousing drunks from their cells and listening to the sobs of the pathetic ones.

"He had a heart attack last year and the chief made him retire. But he had some stories to tell, hence the distance." he gestured to the gap between us. I'm sure I could get to him before he got the taser leveled, but he still had a night stick and I wasn't doing my best here. I stand, cringing after an attempt to stretch. My body stiff and sore. He waved me to the door and I trudged away. Francis was the cop who worked here when I was a kid. He was windbag of an old man who'd recite amateur poetry to pass the time. I wish I had bothered to listen at some point. I'm sure he had something to describe the situation I'm in.

"How bad was it." my throat is dry and my eyes are nearly glued together.

"He'll never run a marathon or anything but he's more or less okay. As okay as you can be after a heart attack at that age." he tried to show me where to go but I just walked the path on my own. He seemed to stumble on himself at every turn, not expecting me to make it before him.

"More time for his poetry I guess." it was a half heart-ed comment, some terrible attempt at small talk with the guy who was paid to watch me sleep.

"He actually switched to haiku's. Said they fit him better. Not sure what he was talking about, I could never really understand any of them. It was always stuff about rain." I didn't feel like explaining why the old man talked about rain. The cop probably heard the explanation a hundred times before. Just in haiku form. Irony worked it's magic again.

"When was my bail even posted?" I know I should have asked him this before. Why I was already being released without seeing a judge.

"This morning, first thing. I don't know why, but the word is the judge saw your name and set the bail right then and there." I almost laugh. It could be number of judges that recognize my name, and each one would probably give me the highest possible bail.

"Who payed my bail?" it was a dreaded question when I was a kid. And the more I think the more I dread it even now. We stop at a counter and I sign a few papers, agree to court. The usual stuff one would go through in this rather odd situation. He doesn't answer my question, just opens the door to the lobby for me. There's quite a bit of hustle and bustle. Drunks here, call girls there. A couple cops struggling with a particularly big man in the corner. Everything one should expect cops to deal with so close to new years. But I can see through the chaos, pick my way through the crowd and see her standing there. She seems rather distraught, maybe angry. I can't tell with how tight she's hold herself. But it becomes clear the closer I get. It's anger. "Mel..." she shakes her head and closes her eyes for a moment, waving a finger at me.

"No." she says quickly, seething with anger. She's wearing a long blue coat coat with the red cross on it. The thick wooly kind.

"No..." she sighs angrily, waving both hands at me. She shakes her head and I can see her shaking as she stares at me.

"Just no. No. Do you get it? No. Don't talk. Just walk to the car and keep your mouth shut. I can't deal with you right now." her words are rapid fire, high and quick. More hands than voice as she points to the door. I put up my hands in mock surrender and she takes a deep breath, tilting her head forward and staring at me. It's colder than it was yesterday. She doesn't speak to me in the car. She doesn't even look in my direction. She simply grips the wheel with white knuckles and talks under her breath. The ride isn't very long, but it takes it's toll on her. People from out of town not used to the streets or flow of the city have flooded traffic to miserable levels. There was more than once were she would lay on the horn, nearly punching her way through it. She slammed her car door, stomped up the stairs and dropped her keys twice before we got back. It wasn't any better inside.

"I think." she turned and put her finger in my face as soon as I shut the door.

"No, no you do not. You do not think, Sam. You have never had an intelligent thought in your life. You just act. So whatever it is that you think you might be thinking, don't think it. Just let it go and shut up." she turned on her heel, throwing her coat at the table and not even looking to see where it landed. I stepped further into the apartment and she hefted my duffel into my hands. Pointing at various things as she spoke. "I am going to go to sleep for a little bit. When I wake up... _that_... will be unpacked and you will be set up in the guest room. You will

be unpacked, comfortable and quiet and in an hour when I wake up I will bathe and we'll change your bandages and we will go get a bottle of wine and yes, Sam, I know you don't know anything about wine. Or maybe you do. Who gives a shit. That's not why you're going with me. You are going with me so the guy at the counter doesn't screw me up the ass for a piece of shit bottle of crap because _you_ can always tell when someone is bullshitting you. That is why you are going with me. Because if you are going to fight people, at least help someone when you do it. And we are going to talk. We have to talk about whatever it is you are struggling with. You have to let me in." she paces and shakes as she rants on. This whole situation really got to her. This sort of neurotic behavior was reserved for the kind of high strung people that spend their days counting seconds to mark the efficiency of their breathing. And it would seem that over the years my sister turned into one of those people. She stared at me expectantly. Like I was actually supposed to answer the question.

"You seem really high strung. Maybe we shouldn't wait to get the wine." her eyes widened and I could almost see the nerve snap. She quickly walked to her room, slamming the door and screaming into a pillow. I made my way into the guest room, tossing the duffel on the bed. The room was simple. A double bed with blue sheets and two pillows. The kind of room someone would lie awake in all night, tossing and turning because it seemed like the sort of room a serial killer would decorate. Especially with the painting of a field of flowers on the wall. I heard her storm from her room and into the guest room, _my_ room. She was rubbing her temples and trying to control her breathing. She spoke slower this time, more force, less fury.

"The wine is not for us. It is a gift for Carly, since she was, in fact, the one gave me the money for your bail." it was like a shot to the gut.

"What?" I said slowly, trying not to sound like I was just emotionally punched. She took a deep breath, sitting on the bed.

"Let me explain to you how my night went. After you came here, got high as a kite on pain killers and what ever high powered medication they have you on for your alarmingly obvious PTSD or general insanity, and stripped naked and took my clippers to your head I listened to you talk about your now dead best friend or lover or whatever he was to you, and after you dropped this emotional line on me about how you feel responsible and walked out I tried to get some sleep. It wasn't easy, given as to how you disappeared. So when I got a call for an extra shift in the emergency room, I go in. I could use the money and It gets rough around the holidays. So after three hours of the usual things: animal attacks, car crashes, mangled bodies, broken limbs and stab wounds, the normal stuff, two cops walk in and with them are two guys on stretchers. Not that weird. What was weird was their wounds. What as weird was that I knew what was wrong with them as soon as I saw them. The big guy, with the buzz cut? You broke three of his ribs, smashed his left eye socket open and broke his arm in two places. So he was out, like almost in a coma out. But the other guy was still conscious, so he was high on morphine and was screaming about how the lights were aliens or something because he also had a concussion along with his shattered knee and broken nose. This guy, who was higher than the Seattle freaking spire looked at me and stops screaming, stops squirming and just goes deer in the head lights for all of ten seconds when he begs me not to hurt him again. He begs and he cries and then he starts screaming at the cops to shoot me and stop me and is thrashing around so much that he hurt two nurses trying to sedate him." she stands up, crossing her arms and walking the edges of the room. "By this point the pieces are starting to come together and I remember that summer we spent at Carmines and I could hear his voice in the back of head with that little phrase he taught us for fighting. You remember that, the thing he would chant as he made you hit the heavy bag. You remember?" her voice is starting speed back up. The thought of that summer wasn't the same for her as it was for me. It was a little for... out of the norm, even though he just taught her simple stuff. But that's not what she was remembering, she was remembering the stuff she saw him teach me.

"Damage, disable, disengage." it was a little mantra for self defense. Nothing complicated, just enough to get you through if you keep your head. She nods and points at me.

"Exactly. Damage, disable, disengage. Damage, disable, disengage. Exactly, that in itself isn't harmful. I can't fault you for using the stuff he taught you. I mean, I still remember the self defense stuff he crammed in there. And that saying, it just kept repeating In the back of my head when it clicked, that was a combo he taught you. Those wounds, the liver, the ribs and the broken bones, those were places he told you to go for. So naturally, fearing the worst, I ask one of the police officers what happened and he tells me about this bar fight where some guys attacked a girl and she beat the crap out of them. After he _hits_ on me he mentions that I _kinda_ look like her. That I _remind _him of her. So there I was, the worst thing that could possibly happen besides you dying has happened and I'm stuck at work, unsure of what to do. But I'm spared the hours of wondering when I get a phone call. It's Carly, she calls to tell me that, as a research assistant for the evening news, one of her cop friends tells her that you were arrested. She tells me about how you talked them down to self defense and by leading them to illegal items made it there fault. She also got the news to keep names out of it. Where were they? Inside the passenger seat, under the tire in the trunk, if not, check the lining. Right? Another one of those little tips Carmine forced in your head that got stuck in mine to." her words are starting to jumble together, stress and exhaustion taking a heavy toll on her. I move to her, stopping her pacing and place my hands on her shoulders.

"Mel. Calm down." she shakes her head at me.

"Calm down, calm down? You want me to calm down after the night I had? Sam, I owe Carly over a _grand_. Do you get it? I didn't pay you bail, Sam. I don't have the money for it. I don't _have_ a lot of money, Sam, I don't _make_ a lot of money. I plan out expenses a week in advance just to be sure I have enough. I didn't pay your bail, Carly did. And she knew the judge, for some reason or another and she got him to set a bail and push the file forward without a court appearance to keep you out of the news. So, do you get it yet? Do you get it? I owe her so much and all I can do is get her a bottle of cheap fucking wine. I don't even know if she drinks. But it's no like I can pay her back, Sam, and I can't just say thank you and have her wait. I'm not you, do you understand? I'm not a part of the group like you were. Like you still are, Sam, they will always want you with them. You are family to them. I'm not. I can't just..." tears had started welling in her eyes and I did the only thing I could think of. I tried to be family. I pulled into a hug and she dug her fingers into my shirt. I could feel her tears on my shoulder and I just held her. This is what family does, right? They help each other. They care for each other. And she was trying so hard to get past everything. Get past all the fighting and yelling. I never thought of how she would fit into the hole I left behind. I never thought how hard it would be for her, the same face as the one that just left them all. It must have been torture, to be a constant reminder like that, the only people she knew in the city looking at her like she was someone else. But what else am I supposed to do? I don't know how to handle this situation.

"We'll talk." she backs away, wiping away her tears on her sleeve. Her eyes are puffy and red and she wraps her arms around herself. "I might not answer all of them, or any of them. But when you want to know something, just ask me. I'll try to let you in. I don't know what to do anymore, Mel, I'm lost in this world. But if you can try, so can I." her gaze changes and she nods, still sniffling. It didn't matter if I was telling the truth or lying through my teeth, I said what she wanted to hear.

"Now, lets start now. I can't help you if I don't know the truth." she's determined, forceful in her tone.

"Mel, I don't." I try to protest, but it doesn't work. She always had more willpower than I did.

"No, now. We start now. One question at a time. You answer one question and I'll leave."

"Fine." I surrender to her will. Better to just get this started.

"Okay... why did you leave? What happened that made it hurt so much to stay?" of course, of course that's the fist question she asked. One of the worst ones she could ask. One of the ones I don't know if I'll ever be able to answer.

"No, not that one." I back away from her, hoping that she might somehow understand. I can't tell her the truth. I can't let her know about how I felt, still feel. She's to close to her.

"No, Sam, that one. You said we'll talk and I'm not leaving till I get an answer." I look around the room, suddenly paranoid about nothing and everything at the same time.

"And I said I might not answer any. So no, not that one. I can't answer that. I can _not_ answer that. At least not yet. Ask something else." she seems unfazed by my sudden plea, but she gives, looking to the floor.

"Fine. Then I want to know why you beat those guys up. I want to know what happened with them that you had to disable them for life. Those men will never be normal, Sam. So why?" that one was a different sort of internal beast. The one that comes with white dots in my vision and an urge to hurt people.

"They were insulting Carmine. Just... understand that. Okay? I couldn't let them talk like that about him. There, question answered." my voice more emotional than I'd like and she doesn't seem happy with my answer, but she accepts it.

"Okay, fine. I'm... I'm going to get some sleep now and tomorrow we'll..." she stops, her voice trailing off as she sees some invisible spot on the wall. She snaps back to me, her eyes wide and she looks around for a second and back to me. "I have something I have to give you, but I can't give it to you here. We'll talk about it later." she moves away and disappears before I get the chance to question her. I'm stuck here, left in a wake of confusion with an hour or two to kill and nothing to do. I look at the duffel bag. My life. My pain. I tear it open and start digging. I find the items I'm looking for rather quickly. The photo of my team, my friends, my family. Whatever they were to me. Something to draw the pain to the surface. And the pain killers, something to wash it back down. But I found something else in my search, something I wasn't expecting to find. My standard issue Force Recon knife. I pull it from the sheath, running a thumb along the edge of the blackened blade, my mind firing off images of where every dent, scratch and chip came from. I pull it away, sucking away the blood on my thumb. But its the specks of dried blood that tears me from reality, placing me firmly back in the past, staring at ghosts.

**A/N: As a side note of a much more lighthearted variety, everything sounds cool to me when I'm hopped up on Monster and I write with all of Sam's inner dio-mono-logue/thoughts and narrations as if she were having them in the style of a Max Payne monologue. I think I'll try to do that for a bit after this, you know, experiment, I'll let you know how that turns out. And we just made a big jump, from mentioning Carly to having her involved in an actual way. Just not physically.**


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